


Psyche of War

by Paradoxical_Pacifism



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Adventure, Amnesia, Drama, Gen, Lizardmen, Points of View, Skaven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 14:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18918901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxical_Pacifism/pseuds/Paradoxical_Pacifism
Summary: Lizards and rats, both alike as well as unlike, try their best to survive all the while finding meaning in war.





	1. Crimson Red Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly large story I wrote at Lustria Online that's almost finished (check out Lustria online, it's an amazing forum for lizardmen fluff and fiction!) I would also appreciate critique as well.

Among the many swaths of humid jungles, laid an assortment of ancient Lizardmen ruins. The crimson red skies above cast their dipping sun’s glare at the ruins, illuminating the countless bodies’ blood spills of the Skaven and Lizardmen in their ever encompassing wake. Hordes of more lively slave and clan rats pushed harder into the broad ruin’s well defended entrance, falling victim to the defending Skinks’ javelins and clubs in the bloody process. But a limited amount of Skinks could only do so much against a nigh endless vermintide, for the defensive line buckled under pressure. All of this infuriated the Lizardmen defenders’ only leader, Conquatza.  
  
  
Alike his fellow Skinks under command, his entire body was covered in blue scales, while his elongated reptilian head was crested with colorful feathers.  
  
  
Conquatza surveyed the fighting with fleeting eyes. Nearly depleted cohorts of Skink javelins were holding the entrance to the ruins, meanwhile Skinks on the ruins’ far flanks were viciously engaged in melee with various clubs and melee weapons, fighting for the ruins and their lives. Rage and fear built up in his mind as he tried to figure out a way the ruins and his garrison could be saved from this utterly destructive vermintide. But their fates had been sealed. For it would seem rats by the hundreds replaced their dead comrades, meanwhile many of the Lizardmen’s ranks laid slain upon their freshly spilled blood pools.  
  
  
In pure determination in face of this all, Conquatza stiffened his scaly grip on his golden tipped spear before heading off into the frenzy the mostly javelin equipped Skinks were trying their best to contain. He knew no matter what he could do, the end result would always be defeat. But that didn't matter to him. Defeat or not, he’ll bring down as many of the vile rats as he can down with him!  
  
  
But before he could join the frenzy, he spotted a wide spanning line of blue figures along the trees, far behind the skaven. Reinforcements?! Finally, after long minutes of this costly battle, joy enveloped his mind, as he raised his head towards the vast skies that were hued an orange-red.  
  
  
“STAY FIRM! Reinforcements are coming!"  
  
  
In the shriek of their commanding Skink chief, the Skinks’ minds immediately turned into a bloody frenzy in parody of their Saurus comrades of the Southlands.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Among the much needed reinforcements was an energetic cohort of Skinks armed with lethal clubs and stone hard red shields to assist them in combat. Massive formations of Saurus warriors constituted the bulk of the reinforcements with blade adorned clubs ready for the rats’ blood.  
  
  
Ahead of their advance, marched the army’s mighty Saurus Scar Veteran, Kha’kor. With golden plates strapped all over his saurian body, and standing a foot taller than his Saurus brethren behind, he grumbled in low Saurian at his fearsome army.  
  
  
“Purge the unworthy rats from the ruins of our Southlands' kin. Kill them all!”  
  
  
The Saurus warriors from behind roared in agreement of their leader’s orders, interpreting it as charging into the vulnerable ranks of the invading Skaven, and killing them as much as possible.  
  
  
Tenx, a single Skink of his aforementioned Skink cohort, looked to the left of him in pure awe. Kha’kor was leading the charge with legions of Saurus warriors frenzied by his order. Tenx also remarked the excited expressions of his Skink brethren, eager to commit in their first engagement of melee. No doubt that Tenx was also excited for his first time to let his training shine in actual battle. But worry ebbed slowly in Tenx’s mind. Will this be his last engagement? What’s going to happen in the following minutes? Despite his eager expression, Tenx was very much worried of the uncertain future.  
  
  
Looking to his right, Tenx noticed the Skink next to him mysteriously had no blades at all on his club. With no blades, how can this Skink have any hope of defending itself!? Furthermore, unlike all of the other Skinks, its facial muscles were strangely relaxed in the most dangerous and unpredictable of times it could find itself in.  
  
  
Tenx took away his glance at the strange Skink in an effort to ignore his many questions that were dangerously occluding his sense of surroundings. The horde of dirty rats came closer and closer, until the thin, black whiskers of their snouty faces could be seen. At that point, Kha’kor and the Saurus warriors were already committed into melee, brutally slashing and chopping rats with near impunity.  
  
  
The first column of the Skink cohort collided into the very vulnerable flank of the vermintide horde with colossal effectiveness, instantly killing tens among the Skaven ranks. Tenx of the second column took this small opportunity, and flanked around to the left to seek out an opponent among the rat horde. To Tenx's avail, A single malnourished slave rat was isolated from a sea of brown furred rats, probably trying itself hard with its mind to make sense of the insanity that ensued around it.  
  
  
With a swift charge, Tenx was already upon the unsuspecting rat with eagerness brimming in his mind to get his first kill. The slave rat shrieked in horror as a reptile-thing leapt into the air, with its club aimed directly at its own body. It tried a desperate block, but the club easily over powered the already malnourished strength of the slave rat, slashing a deep, vertical line across the slave rat’s torso. The deep wound leaked streams of blood, before the slave rat succumbed to the grassy ground, motionless.  
  
  
Tenx leapt back and stared at his first kill. He expected glory and joy from his first kill ever, but instead, he got… nothing? A feeling Tenx couldn’t describe ebbed in his mind and churned his stomach as he stood watching his slain foe staining the grass red.  
  
  
Another armed rat smirked to itself as it found a prime opportunity. It rushed forth with an incredible shriek, and a short sword to bare into the ignorant reptile-thing’s flank!  
  
  
In Tenx’s Slann like trance, he barely noticed the small rat that was rushing onto his left flank at the very corner of his left eye. His heart throbbed against his chest in incomprehensible rates with adrenaline driving his shield-equipped left arm to block this unexpected charge.  
  
  
The ‘Clang!’ sound made when iron meets iron, told Tenx this vile rat failed to impale him with his short sword. But the inertia of the charge initially caused Tenx’s small body to stagger. Seeing this, the rat quickly followed up with another horizontal swing to end this, but Tenx easily anticipated the rat’s move, and parried the short sword far away from his attacker. With pure rage over taking him, he counter swinged his club at the defenseless rat, mercilessly cutting into the torso.  
  
  
Tenx hurriedly looked away from his new kill, and instead focused on his surroundings. He frantically bobbed and turned his head for any of the rats that would want to challenge and kill him. But he found none of that. Instead, motionless bodies of the rats littered the jungle floor with humid air reeking of the putrid smell of dead rats.  
  
  
Kha’kor roared onto the orange-red skies above him, signifying to the army the enemy was utterly crushed! The Saurus warriors joined in along with the Skink cohorts. Conquatza and the ruin’s battered Skink garrison also chimed in on the glorious victory.  
  
  
But Tenx couldn’t.  
  
  
Instead, he glanced at his two slain foes with golden eyes wide open, beating his heart against its chest.  
  
  
_Why can’t I roar to this?_


	2. The Morality of Killing

Within the ancient walls of a Hexoatl training facility, Skinks of both the worker caste and the warrior caste were training with a variety of weapons to prepare themselves for their inevitable participation in war. Two stood still before a large cabinet of javelins.  
  
  
“What is the Great Plan?”  
  
  
“Well that’s a really stupid question.”  
  
  
“…”  
  
  
“Your philosophical inquiries of the Great Plan are unproductive. To purge this world of chaos and kill the unworthy… that’s all that matters!”  
  
  
“I…”  
  
  
“You must be thinking why.”  
  
  
All of the Skinks in the room stood still, leering at the lone skink whom dared question the Great Plan. Suddenly, all of them transformed into horrifying torrents of unorganized blue flesh. Their large golden eyes went missing as their bodies grew large, uncontrollable limbs. In their sickening parody of chaos spawn, they all leapt into the air at the lone Skink whom DARED question the Great Plan.  
  
  
**“THE WILL OF THE OLD ONES, TENX!”**  
  
  
Tenx’s orange crested head immediately shot up from his quiet slumber, his heart beating hard against his chest. He looked all around him in frenzy and saw the moist dirt that made his small sleeping crater. Above, he could see the dark, night sky with its countless stars decorating the canvas of it all. It must’ve been a really horrific dream, for It felt incredibly real as if it happened a few minutes ago.  
  
  
Tenx tried to focus on getting back to sleep, but the absence of water in his mouth and innards made it fairly uncomfortable. With a heavy sigh, he got up from his crater in search for his body’s much wanted water.  
  
  
All around him laid hundreds of craters the warriors of the army like him used for their uncomfortable sleep. A white tent was propped up among the craters, which was probably Kha’kor’s personal quarters.  
  
  
Tenx went further away from the army’s encampment, and further into the humid jungle interior. Ferns were pressured under the slithering movements of his slander tail, and the treacherous undergrowth consented his scaly feet. A small pond appeared in the middle of grey edgy rocks not far away in Tenx’s eyesight, making his lust for water nearly unbearable.  
  
  
Tenx dropped his shield and bladed club near the rocks, before descending his slander body to meet the pond of water and gorge in. Filtering some of it would probably be a good idea, but he primarily didn’t care about the unharmful germs.  
  
  
However, before Tenx could grace his dull snout with water, he heard rustling of foliage somewhere behind him. Tension slightly gripped his mind as he ascended his body at full attention for the origin of that sound. He determined that the cause of the rustling is somewhere to the left in a large myriad of dark green bushes.  
  
  
Tenx slowly approached the myriad of bushes with a strong grip of his rectangular club, and a fearful mind ready to kill whatever was taking homage in there.  
  
  
Two brown furred rats with dirty clothing soon sprinted forth from the bushes, and stood staring at the lone blue reptile-thing. The twitchy rats exchanged unintelligible shrills with each other, before charging at their lone target with clean swords hungry for fresh blood.  
  
  
Tenx immediately braced for their onslaught with his heart throbbing, and shock gripping his mind. Nonetheless, he stood his ground and braced, unsure of what’s going to happen next. To his horror, the charging rats split their charges into two directions, and continued their assault on both of his flanks. His teeth grinded at themselves at the fearful sight of such an advance. He’ll only be able defend from one at a time, leaving his other flank exposed.  
  
  
Tenx instinctively lurched backward to gain more distance from his indefensible position, but the rats advanced much faster than he could stagger back. Mentally defeated, he stared into the mad expression of the rats, and sent a silent prayer towards Chotec for protection to survive this.  
  
  
It would seem Chotec immediately took notice of Tenx’s silent prayer, for another Skink almost identical to Tenx’s features, swooped down from the darkness of the trees above and bashed one of the rat’s heads in with a hard downward swing of a club. It gracefully landed behind the collapsing rat, before leaping onto its new ratty target. Instinctively, the dirty rat shrieked with horror, as it dropped its sword and held scrawny fingers in front of its snouty face. But the club didn’t care, as it went above the fingers, and on top of the rat’s unprotected head, dropping the rat’s horrified face down onto the moist ground.  
  
  
Tenx lowered his shield and club in awe at his savior. He interestingly noted the Skink’s rectangular club had no spikes on it at all, which visually denoted this Skink as the same one from his cohort earlier.  
  
  
“T-Thanks!”  
  
  
The Skink turned its nearly identical head, grinning at the heartfelt thanks.  
  
  
“No problem! But… why did you leave the encampment?”  
  
  
Tenx embarrassingly grinned at the pond he was hoping he would find peace... and water.  
  
  
“Well… thirst can often override the instinctual reasoning the living are spawned with, no?”  
  
  
“Yeah, I’ve been in those situations before…” the Skink chuckled slightly before continuing again, “Some of them fairly humorous.”  
  
  
The Skinks stood there enjoying each other’s company. For Tenx it was like a forgotten experience he had from Hexoatl that was nearly absent when he traveled across the Great Ocean and on to the Southlands. But once again, worry crept into Tenx’s mind as he saw the rat corpses twitch lively with obvious signs that they were actually alive instead of being dead.  
  
  
“The rats, they’re still alive!”  
  
  
The Skink turned around towards the twitching rats with a curious look on its face.  
  
  
“Of course… you expected them to be dead?”  
  
  
“Shouldn’t we just kill them then?”  
  
  
The Skink turned towards the rat he just incapacitated. Neither rage, nor contempt entered its mind, even though this vile rat tried to kill its brethren without remorse.  
  
  
“I don’t want to kill them.”  
  
  
Tenx’s already wide eyes shot even wider to the Skink’s revelation.  
  
  
“Huh?”  
  
  
"The constant spilling of blood has taught me the preciousness of life…” The Skink noted Tenx’s predictable bafflement grow more, “So, I swore to my soul, that I will never take another’s life… Ever.”  
  
  
It took Tenx several seconds to fully take in what he heard, but even then, this strange Skink wasn't completely nonsensical in his eyes  
  
  
“I’ve never heard of anyone not wanting to kill… not even in self-defense?”  
  
  
“It’s a lot more common than you think,” The skink replied back whilst looking at the unconscious bodies, “Constantly killing with no end in sight… I can’t speak for the Sauri, but that would drive me crazy!”  
  
  
And now Tenx was finding this Skink frighteningly similar to itself. He remembered how it was hard to celebrate his first battle’s victory, even though they suffered no casualties.  
  
  
“What’s your name by the way?”  
  
  
“Yolotli.”  
  
  
“Mine’s Tenx.”  
  
  
Yolotli smiled at Tenx before heading off into the direction of the encampment.  
  
  
“Don’t make me have to save you again.”  
  
  
A cold breeze swept through Tenx as he saw Yolotli and his slender tail disappear into the ferns and trees. Yolotli’s last remark made Tenx’s stomach churn in embarrassment as he remembered his begging to be saved. Somewhat pathetic, he admittedly thought.  
  
  
In his mind, Tenx sought to drench his thirst, but the rats came first. They are for the most part, motionless, and it would seem they were even sleeping peacefully as if nothing happened to them. He grimly remembered the terror these vile rats caused to him when they were as lively as ever with their swords. Gripping his club harder, he was unsure of what to do with them. If he doesn’t kill them here, they will just become a dangerous threat to someone else!  
  
  
Tenx stood there presiding over the unconscious rats’ fates with his club seemingly sharpening itself. He should just kill them and end this quickly. But as minutes of staring went by, the more his resolve withered away, until the sharpened club, hungry for its blood, started to dull itself. He stepped forward, finding his arms unable to power through this feeling and drive the club onto two easy kills before it.  
  
  
With a heavy sigh, his body peacefully turned around, moving his tail from side to side.  
  
  
They're only slave rats after all.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Conquatza with his colored feathers crested from various parts of his skink body, was among a field of craters. In each of them was a warrior from Kha’kor’s expedition. It felt pretty unnerving for there to be so many craters dug in on the jungle floor, but he discarded that feeling anyway. He needed to meet Kha’kor urgently!  
  
  
Conquatza was fairly shocked when he heard the reinforcements weren’t from Zlatlan, but rather from Hexoatl. It would seem the Slann of the Southlands somehow contacted Hexoatl across the Great Ocean and asked for an expedition of sorts. Whatever how, Conquatza was happy for the reinforcements anyway.  
  
  
A white tent registered in Conquatza’s eyesight, and so did the sound of metal being stricken at with lots of strength. Conquatza’s curiosity powered him to meet Kha’kor even more. Upon entering the tent, Conquatza immediately saw a Saurus Scar Veteran crouched down, striking a spear’s tip with a sharp rock. Other than that, there were many other weapons surrounding the Saurus Scar Veteran.  
  
  
“Kha’kor of the Hexoatl Sun Raiders?”  
  
  
Kha’kor instantly stopped what he was doing, and turned around to meet his Skink chief visitor.  
  
  
“Yes?”  
  
  
“The Slann of Zlatlan orders your expedition to travel along the border of the Yuatek River, and attack any Skaven hordes that may be preparing their assault on Zlatlan.”  
  
  
Kha’kor growled in approval before starting his work anew on his spear. But Conquatza spoke up again, for he wanted Kha’kor to accept something else.  
  
  
“By the way, I brought a gift of my appreciation for the reinforcements earlier.” Pedestals of different hues decorated a medium sized basket and Conquatza gestured it forwards with a wide grin for Kha’kor to take it.  
  
  
“Roasted grubs of Zlatlan’s cooking caste, and two potions of Kroxigor’s Might!”  
  
  
But Kha’kor took his disgruntled glance away from the gift and continued on his spear.  
  
  
Conquatza’s excited expression contorted into confusion as Kha’kor completely ignored his gift, and simply worked on his spear as if he wasn’t there. He would love to just place it near him, but Kha’kor was wielding a spear almost the same height of his own, and was completely surrounded by weapons. Fear is preventing him from doing so, and he sadly knew that.  
  
  
“You’re still standing there… why?"  
  
  
Conquatza’s heart immediately got pierced by that lowly grumble of Saurian by the Scar Veteran.  
  
  
“M-My…”  
  
  
“If you have no further orders for me, return to your assigned duties.”  
  
  
Kha’kor returned to seemingly the only thing he cared about, his inanimate reaper of ratty lives, his spear. With a defeated sigh, Conquatza waltzed out of the tent with his roasted grubs and utterly wasted excitement.  
  
  
After a while away from the encampment, Conquatza peeked at the deliciously roasted grubs and two large flasks of Kroxigor’s might with pure rage. With his claws shaking uncontrollably, he remembered the losses his garrison had to endure, and the many whom will never return to this world.  
  
  
With a mighty grasp on the basket, he threw it down onto the jungle floor repeatedly until the whole thing was finally an unrecognizable, forgettable heap of mess.  
  
  
Ear piercing roars reverberated throughout the dark trees as the enraged Skink departed its sense of logical thinking with blood boiling hatred.


	3. Instinctive Divergence

Among the sprawling masses of green flora, and under the overlooking trees, laid two incredibly malnourished rats. They laid next to each other with their scrawny limbs sprawled out uncomfortably, as if they were apart of an entangled affair long gone awry. Nonetheless, they were sleeping fully content upon the harsh undergrowth.

 

A heavy beam of light stroke through the trees and onto one of the sleeping rats, instantly willing its eyes to blinking life. Mindlessly, it tried with its thin legs and arms to stand upright. After many fallacious attempts, it finally achieved its goal of standing, albeit with frequent stumbling.

 

In the hazy episode of its mind trying to gain their bearings, it spotted something on the ground disgustingly similar to itself. The thing had brown fur, an identical body structure and a fairly long snout.

 

It then did the unthinkable. It headed towards the defenseless rat with a feral stomach, and a directionless intent. It’s hungry.

 

Even though this scrawny, unconscious rat mysteriously looked like an identical clone of itself, is it even alive? Perhaps cannibalism wouldn’t be the worst thing it could do under these lonely circumstances? These permeating thoughts rushed and whirled not only from its mind, but also from within its desperate maw.

 

It prodded the roughed up brown fur of the sleeping rat’s back side to elicit only one response. A response to his intrusion, a response that could answer the desperate questions lurking in its mind. Finally! The brown furred thing seemed to be answering, for the once motionless corpse was now twitching about and moving uncomfortably with its muscles revving to life.

 

Slowly, the awoke rat sluggishly swerved its snout with a headache pounding incessantly. Its hazy vision wasn't improving much. It could only gather that its surroundings were very green, smelt fairly unnatural, and this mysterious touching that occurred from time to time. It slowly directed all of its muscles to toil themselves in order to see whatever was touching. The racing ratty heart skipped beats when it found something hideously similar to itself - beady eye to eye!

 

With complete surprise driving its skinny legs, it pathetically staggered the look-alike weirdo before scurrying on its back in horror.

 

“Who-thing are you!?”

“No, who-thing are you!?”

 

Both of the poorly clothed rats stared at each other with their hearts beating. Their hearts soon cooled down, but their erratic as ever minds didn’t, for they saw each other’s eyes and didn’t know the other. Or themselves.

 

However, in one of them, a flame spontaneously sparked. Pictures of home, of hope, and the answerer to all of its questions flew through its mind. A glimmer of faithful purpose flickered among distorted memories of what it could only assume to be home.

 

It pointed its long dirty claw at the rat it was previously drooling ominously at.

 

“You-thing! You shall help-assist me in reaching home!”

 

"Oh?” the other rat questioned. it slightly felt the energy that came with the strange word ‘home’ too.

 

Raising its head, it shrieked once more.

 

“Skavenblight! The bastion for all that is right, and for my hope.” The rat’s head finally came down and revealed an innocent looking grin, “Yours too.”

 

The surprised rat’s erratic mind was now filling with pictures of this ‘home’. Wealth, happiness, it wondered if this is what Skavenblight, its own home, is!?

 

“Skavenblight!”

 

The rat’s faces turned from fear into joy, as their companionship grows. But there’s just one slight problem…

 

“What’s your name?”

 

Their stares returned, for it would seem that’s something both don’t know at all.

 

But the rat that suggested their return to their heavenly home, quickly came up with another suggestion in its brief time of thinking.

 

"I don’t know, but my name shall be… Conquil!”

 

“Nice! I shall take-make up the name, Sniplit!”

 

Both Conquil and Sniplit smiled at each other before formulating plans to reach their beloved home, Skavenblight. It took a fair amount of time, but they decided first and foremost to find something that'll shut up their ravenous stomachs.

 

But where to go? This question permeated itself in their racing minds. All around them stood limitless directions they could stroll themselves towards to. A nice looking pond surrounded by grey rocks was ahead of them a bit to the right, but that’s about it. The trees all around them swerved from side to side in the rats' deep, incognizant stares.

 

Without actually spending much effort thinking, they decided to just randomly make their way further into the jungle interior to quell their incessant hunger.

 

It was a strange experience. Ferns and a whole lot of other green plants decorated the ground floor at different lengths and widths.There was the never ending color of green no matter where their beady eyes could dart to and from.

 

An hour of curious bobbing of ratty heads, and scurrying claws passed by them as if it was only a mere breeze of air. No food could be found.

 

Then they stopped. They couldn’t go any further, for their tiny stomachs churned, and the humidity was mercilessly roasting their bodies. The consequence of malnourishment settled in, as they could barely do any meaningful progress through this physically demanding terrain.

 

Sniplit tried to think positively of home, of Skavenblight. But he couldn’t. Only the swelling anger of the likely fact that the vile-thing Conquil has lead him to his inevitable death.

 

“You idiot-thing! Where are you take-leading me?!”

 

Conquil’s patient panting was instantly interrupted by his companion’s shocking outburst.

 

“What??”

 

“You give-delivering us to certain death! Sniplit moved his angered face closer, “Fool.”

 

Conquil’s skinny tail swiveled furiously at this wretched betrayal.

 

“You call-insulting me a fool, yet you’re using me to reach my sanctuary, Skavenblight!?”

 

“Fool-idiot, we’ve been in this forsaken place for over an hour-hour, and there’s no sign of food-food anywhere,” Sniplit retorted back with a strong hiss.

 

Conquil gritted his rotting teeth in pure anger. Mutual companions now turned into enemies, and despite a common goal, they continued to bicker loudly among themselves, until they eventually agreed to disagree and partially separated.

 

Conquil tried his best to simply ignore everything that happened, and focus on the future. He doesn’t know how he got here or who he even is. But his own watery past in Skavenblight is the only thing he can think back to. _Curse this place! It’s so humid, it feels like you’re being suffocated by the air your body needs to function._

 

Sniplit was digging and creasing among a construct of branches rooting up from the moist soil with only one thing on its mind, food. Sniplit wanted the inanimate thing that can somehow give the living their most needed source of energy. And Sniplit needed and wanted it so bad, for his scrawny body has bared the hallmarks of nearly lethal malnourishment.

 

Among Sniplit’s desperate digging for food he faintly heard the harsh sound of ‘snap!’ when branches break under heavy pressure. But wasn’t he just there a second ago? Sniplit stared into a gathering of bushes where the sound originated. There was nothing out of the ordinary except for this mysteriously long brown stick protruding out of the whole thing.

 

_It’s probably just the brown branches doing its job of supporting their respective structures of greenness._

_Wait…_

 

_This one branch is clearly thicker and longer than its brethren, and it’s pointing directly at me!_

 

Sniplit stared down the barrel of the stick, before his mind finally put the clues together and clicked.

 

“Ambush?” Sniplit uttered under his horrid breath, not exactly sure of his uncertain conclusion.

 

The brown stick visibly answered a centimeter forward.

 

“AMBUSH!!” Sniplit shrieked at the top of his tiny vocal cords before jumping up erratically and running away with his tail vying out of control.

 

Conquil was instinctively taken over by utter fear as he saw Sniplit erratically run by him with a dart blazing over their both of their heads. Conquil immediately followed in suit, not because of his own precious life, but for incomprehensible amounts of fear driving his muscles and mind crazy.

 

The two frantically ran past the countless tress and swamps, as well as dodging sharp features of the ground floor. Darts were still piercing the surrounding breathing area of the two rats making it more and more certain that they’ll find their mark soon. But the two didn’t take note of that, or even know who or what is launching these merciless projectiles, only that their lives could now reside on the sharp edges of these merciless darts.

 

Finally, after long minutes of mindless running, the barrage of sharp dots stopped for some unknown reason. Tempt overtook Conquil as he wanted to see, for himself, the reason why he ran. He scanned the surrounding jungle swaths of trees and bushes with no avail. He was about to give up on the search, until a blue figure finally registered in his fleeting eyes. The figure had an orange crest and a strangely shaped head.

 

Its eyes were wide, and golden. They pierced Conquil’s heart, for they were brimming with hate and a desire to kill. Conquil looked into the vortex of the golden eyes, and couldn’t understand the madness the eyes projected at all. Why?

 

The mysterious blue figure wasted no time before quickly retreating into the depths of the encompassing tress, and disappeared… for now.

 

“What-standing are you doing?!”

 

Conquil’s silent trance was interrupted by a sharp shriek from behind. Sniplit tried to gesture towards the ignorant Conquil that they needed to run far away from this place as possible!

 

But Sniplit couldn’t do as such, as he collapsed straight down onto the ground. Conquil’s beady eyes shot wide open as he did the same as well, landing his small body painfully beside Sniplit.

 

Were they hit? Sniplit immediately thought so, but he couldn’t feel anything, except for the mind numbingly painful malnourishment. In fact, their malnourished bodies were pushed to the ultimate limit as both of the rats tried to squirm about to get up, but couldn’t.

 

Sniplit laid his furry head down onto the moist dirt and stared at the overcasting trees above with bitterness engulfing his teary eyes. He didn't want to die! But it seems their fates have been securely decided with no objection from the rats’ bodies themselves. With a heavy sigh of solemn acceptance, Sniplit turned his head sideways and saw something strange far off into the distance.

 

He instantly thought it was another violent-thing wanting to kill them and end his suffering, but it didn’t move. Actually, it looked more like a messed up pile of little pieces stacked on top of each other. Most importantly, it looked like…FOOOOOD?!

 

Sniplit’s mind turned into a frenzy as he crawled along the moist dirt with his long claws. The dirt soaked into his skinny claws when he finally got up to the strange pile of scraps, and began rummaging about mindlessly. Some of the coloring the scraps had were strange, however there were these countless white small, chubby things that had black lines etched onto them.

 

He didn’t know what these were, but at this point anything’s food, for he threw the strange thing in between his rotting teeth and chewed on it. Initially, the small-chubby thing crunched under the pressure of Sniplit’s teeth, but a short second later, it became softly chewable. It also excreted a strange liquid in his mouth that didn’t taste like anything.

 

But after eating only one, Sniplit’s mind turned into a crazed beast. It wanted more, and Sniplit himself couldn’t agree more. They both indulged in the food before Sniplit’s stomach finally felt like it couldn't take Sniplit's shenanigans anymore, and threatened to burst. Digging some more, Sniplit found even more of the stuff, but also these two large bottles that had a face of some creature-thing inscribed on it with a dark blue liquid contained inside.

 

And then it him like a rock. Conquil! He turned his head to see that he was still laying there, motionless. At first, Sniplit didn’t care much at all for Conquil's fate, for he got what he foolishly wanted. Death.

 

However, the more Sniplit stared at Conquil’s body, the more that guilt in his mind became stronger. Did Conquil truly lead, or was it a mutually agreed to plan? Sniplit thought about the plan that would've, and probably still will consume his own life, before eyeing the food-things yet again.

 

Storing unneeded food later in anticipation for desperate times of need, is an instinct everyone in nature does without empathetic feelings towards others disadvantaged.

 

Yet, something in the deep, uncharted realms of Sniplit's mind was manipulating his very nerves to toil his muscles for a completely illogical purpose. He horded all of the remaining food-things and carried it over to Conquil.

 

Sniplit stuffed the nearly dead Conquil with his newly discovered food and dirt from his bony claws. There was no immediate, visible effect of Conquil’s life being saved, but Sniplit could tell that the food was doing its job of supplying much needed nutrients and calories.

 

With the sight of Conquil’s roughed up fur and tattered clothes, just like Sniplit himself, an intense feeling suddenly roused Sniplit to pat Conquil on the back with a smile, and say something amidst the watchful glares of the encompassing trees.

 

“Strength in unity.”


	4. The Prayers of Mortals

Amidst a host of tents, stood an assassin rat named Gingkin. He stared at the expansive blue skies; his eyes closed alike his aching mind, for it only thought of the rats that were no longer around. For most sentient creatures - even the malevolent Skaven - not much is more helpful than the camaraderie that can sometimes eek out from this uncaring, violent world. His claws clasped upon his chest as he sent a prayer to the Horned Rat. A rather rare plea to the horned god that’ll instill the will to live in each of his fellow rats.  
  
  
Gingkin lowered his snout, opened his eyes, and observed his surroundings. Tents of various colors littered the ground; the numerous Skaven troops wearing assortments of clothing and armor. They sharpened their tools and weapons, while others did erratic activities with each other to pass the time.  
  
  
Gingkin tried to hold back the raging rivers that prodded at the curvature of his eyes. He yearned for strength, so he could fulfill his duty of killing the reptile-things with ruthless efficiency. However, by the seconds that ached hard, his raging rivers of yearnful memories broke though, forming streams of tears that streaked onto his maw's flanks. He failed, and he woefully knew it.  
  
  
Disheartened, Gingkin carried himself by the many tents and lively Skaven warriors. One of the tents like no other appeared with its relatively colossal size. Upon entering it, he saw many colorful and shiny gems stockpiled onto wooden tables. Amidst it all, a fully armored rat caressed and marveled upon a sea of gems.  
  
  
Gingkin noted the rat’s grey fur, visually denoting him as a smart and logical thinker. It was incredibly absorbed in the gems that were constantly being dropped and fondled upon.  
  
  
“Zhen Headrunner.”  
  
  
The armored rat took his indulged stare from his precious gems and locked onto the intruder whom dared to interrupt his heavenly trance.  
  
  
“…What do you dare-dare to disturb me with?!”  
  
  
“It has been over a day, and the slave rat detachment didn’t return from their raid on the temples yet,” Gingkin solemnly answered back, kneeling his head.  
  
  
“So?”  
  
  
Gingkin’s head shot up in surprise and found a nonchalant Zhen fondling with yet another gem.  
  
  
“Shouldn’t we mount-mount a rescue attempt, or any-anything?”  
  
  
“We’ll be receiving reinforcements from across the Yuatek River for the fall of Zlatlan, and you want that delayed for a few hundred useless slaves?” Zhen’s pink tail thrashed around violently.  
  
  
“…It’s just that we could use any help we can get-acquire in Zlatlan’s fall.”  
  
  
Zhen’s thrashing tail cooled down at the rather well-made point made by his subordinate. He even picked up a violent red ruby to sedate himself further. However, his tail still thrashed on.  
  
  
“If their raid was successful, they would’ve already came back with the shiny riches and gave them all to me… Oh well. Chances are they’re already dead.”  
  
  
Gingkin’s aching mind came back in full force at the worst of his fears. The truth was obvious, but he held out for hope, wishing they survived their telling signs of slaughter somehow.  
  
  
Gingkin intensely gritted his teeth together.  
  
  
“No… no… I DON’T ACCEPT THIS!”  
  
  
Suddenly, Zhen leapt from his pile of riches, swiftly delivering an uppercut upon Gingkin’s chin. His body slid back-down for seconds before painfully stopping where he entered in from earlier.  
  
  
“Get out.”  
  
  
Those bleak, emotionless words barely registered in Gingkin’s mind, as he tried to stand with the throbbing pain beating upon his snout. He looked up into Zhen’s eyes and saw the rage fumbling out.  
  
  
“GET OUT!”  
  
  
Gingkin quickly tried with all of his might to stand and get away, for his mind felt like grass bending before a storm's assault. He made his way by the numerous cone shaped tents with Skaven of all sorts romanticizing and dreaming about the plunder Zlatlan will eventually behold them to.  
  
  
Gingkin found himself on the encampment’s jungle clearing that surrounded it. In an effort to find peace in his mind, he randomly chose a direction, and went further into the jungle interior. However, he soon found it hard to do so without thinking about the numerous missing slave rats; their presumably crushed bodies littering the jungle floor, and their lost souls wandering eternally...  
  
  
Gingkin raised his head and found the sky was thoroughly concealed with cloud cover. With the clouds telling Gingkin of the coming of rain, he found his resolve amidst his eyes' tranquil stare upon them. He’ll find the remains of his dead friends and bury them in a strange tradition human-things do to their dead. Only then would he hopefully find peace for his tormented mind, he hoped.  
  
  
In Gingkin’s stare of the clouds, a large flock of birds launched themselves from the trees and flew right to left underneath the vast clouds. Gingkin’s head lowered, and found a large line of blue figures trampling the undergrowth and maneuvering between the trees. The figures had what seemed to be large silver swords ornamented with Lizardmen-esque jewels.  
  
  
Gingkin stood there in pure awe. It would seem the Horned Rat actually observed him, read his mental thoughts, and answered his prayer. The slave rats whom were deemed dead from their dareful raid, were running back to their home army fully alive with unfathomable amounts of plunder.  
  
  
Gingkin launched himself at the figures with joy over riding his muscles and nervous system. Soon, fond memories of decapitating inferior reptile-things and stealing their riches flooded his mind as a vital piece of his own self was returning from a long hiatus.  
  
  
But a terrible realization soon followed.  
  
  
As Gingkin got within mere feet of the figures, he visually noticed the numerous amounts of blue scales that covered their entire bodies. Their faces were rough with numerous creases, and had flattened heads.  
  
  
It immediately clicked to him that these weren’t slave rats overjoyed with plunder, but rather furious lizards charging at him.  
  
  
Gingkin stopped his blissfully suicidal charge, and promptly turned around. He skillfully weaved through the trees and acknowledged the sharp features of the undergrowth. Slowing a tad to look over his shoulders, he saw outpacing them relatively easily as ever. However, they were still hot on his hairless, pink tail.  
  
  
The Encampment was finally in Gingkin’s full view as was the numerous skaven going about their activities, fully unaware of the murderous danger coming. That was before Gingkin could have a crying shriek about that.  
  
  
**“WE-WE'RE UNDER ATTACK-ATTACK!”**  
  
  
Soon, the encampment was enshrouded with complete chaos. Rats everywhere were running among the tents and their fellow warriors, desperately equipping themselves.  
  
  
Zhen immediately dropped his beloved gems and came outside, halberd in claw, to see what the mahrlect was going on. He made his way through the numerous vermin running amok before spotting the cause of all of this commotion.  
  
  
A modest line of twenty or so lizard-things advanced from the tree line. They were led by a fairly tall one that had golden plates strapped to its stout torso. But that was it. His mouth soon contorted into a maniacal grin. If this was truly what Zlatlan can muster to defend themselves, they’ll fall in no time!  
  
  
“Stop screwing around and form your ranks! Quickly!” Zhen shrieked out loudly at his subordinates.  
  
  
In a timely manner, the rats organized into formations; blades ready for the reptile-things’ blood. Zhen was pleased as they assembled themselves in front, meanwhile additional detachments were created on the flanks of the main force.  
  
  
In the watchful eyes of Zhen, the force assembled had hundreds of well trained and armed rats against a small band of reptile-things. Whether these lizards were brave or entirely consumed by stupidity was something he did not know, nor care about. With a claw, he ordered the horde with a simple order.  
  
  
“Kill them all!”  
  
  
***  
  
  
Kha’kor and his fellow Saurus warriors charged out from the myriad of trees and found themselves in a large clearing. Up ahead, numerous tents were starting to get occluded by hordes of rats, readying for blood.  
  
  
“Halt!”  
  
  
At the sonorous command of their Saurus Scar Veteran, the group halted their advance and stood still, staring towards their incoming enemy.  
  
  
In Kha’kor’s watchful gaze, he analyzed the massive groups of skaven rushing in from the front, meanwhile additional formations assisted their charge from their flanks. His clawed grip on his mountainous spear tightened as he waited patiently for their assault.  
  
  
In the face of this seemingly endless vermintide, the Saurus’ faces were motionless, with fear restraining their thick tails. Kha’kor could read the fear oozing from their bodies and understood it perfectly. They could very well die here with nothing on their parts to prevent such an abrupt and painful fate. However, alike how a warrior entrusts their leader to lead and protect, Kha’kor entrusted his fellow warriors to fulfill their duties and orders to the best of their abilities.  
  
  
Only then would this mutual trust give them their chances of survival.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Gingkin’s brown fur was under assault by the occurring rain drops and fast gusts of wind. He was running amok in the empty encampment looking for his sword. Everywhere he went, there was not a ratty soul or weapon in the desolate camp. Finally, in the corner of his eye, he found a lonely sword resting on the moist dirt surrounded by numerous tents. He rushed over to it before a loud shriek stopped him in his tracks.  
  
  
“What are you doing? Get to the front!”  
  
  
Gingkin turned his long snout around to see a well armored Zhen armed with a ridiculous halberd eclipsing its height by nearly two times.  
  
  
“S-Sorry, I forgot-misplaced my sword.”  
  
  
Zhen looked at his underling with great contempt before allowing him to get his sword. He wants those inferior reptile-things dead as soon as possible, and stragglers aren’t going to help achieve that.  
  
  
However, Gingkin stood before the sword with his tail thrashing uncontrollably. Something about Zhen made his blood boil.  
  
  
“Why aren’t you fight-killing as well?”  
  
  
Zhen’s halberd shook with shock at such a question, “Excuse me? As warlord over this army, my life is too precious for the bloody toils of my own body!”  
  
  
“But your armor can fully negate-block their primitive clubs and help us!” Gingkin yelled with all of his might. He didn’t understand Zhen’s cowardly reasoning at all.  
  
  
“Warlords are the sole reason for an army’s tactical organization. As such, warriors like you don’t need my physical help…” Zhen’s claws were growing increasingly livid, “You need my ORDERS!”  
  
  
Zhen dropped his halberd and leapt at Gingkin with his claws held firm.  
  
  
Gingkin instinctively flinched and held up his sleeved arms in response, but Zhen aimed for Gingkin’s stomach instead and launched him into the air. He painfully landed right beside the lonely sword which almost impaled his thin hide. His head looked up and saw Zhen’s maniacal grin.  
  
  
“Get to the fight, or I’ll kill you.”  
  
  
Gingkin’s entire body struggled to get up with this dammed stomach of his sapping the energy from his muscles. His hatred for Zhen grew enormously as he began to think about his friends yet again, and how Zhen used them for his own profit. And it would seem he’s still doing it to him and the rest of the army.  
  
  
However, before Gingkin could grip his sword, a small, blue figure swiftly came from the shadows of the nearby tents and charged at Zhen from behind. Gingkin’s eyes widen as he immediately thought it was one of the same reptile-things that he ran from a while ago!  
  
  
“ZHEN! Behind you!”  
  
  
Zhen was mildly bewildered at his subordinate’s sudden outburst before turning his head behind. He couldn’t react or do anything when the figure’s blade-less club bludgeoned him on the side of his head, knocking him down easily onto the grassy dirt. Gingkin’s heart sank and he found his gut overloaded with pure fear at the sight of his warlord being stricken down. He grabbed his sword quickly and got up to defend himself from this orange crested thing that appeared from nowhere.  
  
  
It impressively leapt from Zhen’s motionless body and flew right at him with its club held firm in its scaly hands. The club clashed with Gingkin’s sword, thrusting the inertia of the Skink’s charge onto Gingkin’s body.  
  
  
Their respective blades grinded at each other to a standstill with their masters’ eyes glaring at each other in their struggle. The skink’s large golden eyes were strangely relaxed as if it wasn’t in a life or death struggle at all. Skinks usually tense themselves too much when they’re in the thick of the fighting, which often makes them susceptible to mistakes. During Gingkin’s ironic trance of thinking, the skink directed all of its strength to the rusty tip of Gingkin’s sword. In doing so, the sword moved counter-clock wise away from Gingkin’s unfocused grip, and provided an excellent opening.  
  
  
Gingkin stared at the Skink’s death imposing club with utter shock. This is it. Time to die.  
  
  
The club indiscriminately bolted into Gingkin’s stomach as if it wasn’t abused enough at all, and sent Gingkin whooshing into the rainy air before finally landing face down onto the ground below. He expected a painful but quick death, but instead, his stomach ached and his muscles found it hard to respond to his nervous impulses. He laid his claws on his gut and found no blood leaking from such a violent attack. He immediately realized that the Skink’s club mysteriously had no blades on it, which made it effectively useless in killing just about anything.  
  
  
Gingkin’s head shot up and found the Skink fighting multiple armed rats with unbelievable ease. It dodged and parried their attacks whilst responding in its own as if it’s in a metaphorical dance to the death, only that it won’t be able to kill any of them.  
  
  
Gingkin eventually got up and tried to get out of this encampment with his life. He stumbled across the desolate tents and stumbled his way forth into the jungle interior away from this dammed place. Finally, the encampment was far behind him, and he was at home alone with the trees surrounding him.  
  
  
Gingkin stopped and looked at the trees above him that were bringing down rain drops in full force. He got out with his life, but now what? His mind was literally aflame with numerous thoughts on what to do, that it didn’t notice a certain thing that followed him the whole time.  
  
  
Turning around immediately, Gingkin spotted another one of those orange crested things with their oversized golden eyes and primitive clubs. Only this time, the blades on the club weren’t missing.  
  
  
It stopped and stared at Gingkin with visually noticeable anger. Gingkin stared right back at it unsure of what it’s going to do next. He’s unarmed, so it should naturally charge and end him, but that wasn't happening. Instead, it’s standing there with its imposing stare.  
  
  
The cold air between the two creatures turned tense as each second between the two stretched to a lifetime that could come to an abrupt and bloody end.  
  
  
Finally, to the relief of Gingkin’s life expectancy, the skink lurched back awkwardly before turning its long tail and running away to the encampment.  
  
  
Gingkin stared at the retreating Skink’s tail in awe. Two times his life has been spared by these things that would’ve easily killed him, but didn’t out of mercy? Ironically, in their positions he wouldn’t have hesitated to sink his blade into the blood of his would be defenseless enemies.  
  
  
Whatever the thing’s strange reasoning, he’s alive and alone with an ambition to satisfy. Gingkin hurried himself further and further into the jungle interior, even finding an abandoned, rusty sword along the way until he became one with the trees and ferns.  
  
  
Akin to the scaly things he had always seen as inferior.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Before the Skaven encampment, laid the jungle clearing drenched in the cold, desolate rain from the dark clouds above. Blood of the Sauri and the Skaven alike in their red hue and cellular composition, splashed onto the dirt below with their parents falling down along with them onto the drenched ground.  
  
  
The Skaven continually plunged themselves onto the clubs of the Sauri. Saurus surrounding Kha’kor fell one by one from the relentless assaults and slashes of the numerous vermintide. Blades constantly found themselves grapping and piercing Kha’kor’s scaly skin with varying amounts of success of drawing his blood. The killing still went on when Kha’kor and his Saurus dwindled to only a few standing.  
  
  
The Skaven finally seemed to be on the verge of totally eliminating the lone group of Saurus, when additional cohorts of the Sauri emerged from the surrounding tree lines. They converged on the skaven horde’s flanks and from behind, fully encircling them. Although Kha’kor and his sauri cohorts were still massively outnumbered, the psychological effect of being encircled, toiled on the minds of the well numbered and trained Skaven ranks.  
  
  
They wanted Zhen’s orders. His powerful presence and guidance was something all of them wanted to brake this encirclement and crush these inferior reptile-things under their massive might.  
  
  
But they never came.  
  
  
Instead, by the bloody minutes of fierce fighting, the rats’ need for a strong and competent leader to give them the orders to fight effectively went unfulfilled. As a result, hundreds of the rats tried to drop their weapons and flee with their lives, but they were caught defenseless by the deadly clubs of the Sauri. A savage slaughter devoid of mercy soon followed, and not long after, the vast dirt was littered with ratty corpses that used to have souls full of dreams and hopes, now splashed worthlessly onto the drenched jungle floor in their blood.  
  
  
Kha’kor looked on to the dancing ground with his gashed legs barely standing. Countless bodies of the Skaven intermingled with the stouter ones of the Saurus. Many of the rats he thought were dead, flailed around in screaming pain with their limbs missing. The Sauri all around him didn’t wait for him, and took it upon themselves to roar their victory over the defeated vermin.  
  
  
But in Kha’kor’s eyes, all of them weren’t defeated, for there’s one foe of the enemy uncounted for. He eyed the Encampment further up, and with each painful stroke, limped with his bloodied spear towards the myriad of tents.  
  
  
The battle wasn't over yet…  
  
  
***  
  
  
Surrounded by riches, Zhen sat by a table’s leg. The cold air stood motionless alike Zhen’s unconscious body. An incredibly powerful noise reverberated throughout the serene air. It shook the innards of the various gems that resided in peace, and made the neutral air the carrier and messenger of the noise’s strong meaning.  
  
  
Zhen groggily opened his eyes and observed his surroundings. He was inside a fairly large tent with lots of wooden furniture residing on the white walls of the tent. Shiny gems of numerous colors were stashed everywhere they could it would seem. Those gems literally smacked his mind as he remembered something. The fight!  
  
  
Zhen instinctively tried to bring up his arms to get up, but they wouldn’t budge. He swiveled his head to the ultimate limit, and found thick chains attaching his bony wrists to the table leg behind him. Soon, he realized the probable outcome of his army actually being defeated and him being captured by those measly saurus. But how?! Last time he glanced at the Saurus, they’ve already lost one from the first impact of his army!  
  
  
That sonorous noise still kept on sounding off, which audibly denoted the embarrassing and frankly impossible loss Zhen’s army has indeed endured. Zhen gritted his teeth and tried to break free, but the chains stood firm and made the pressure on Zhen’s bony wrists worse. During his struggle, something much closer eclipsed the roaring remarkably well in his ears. It was a loud thumping sound that’s usually made when someone’s walking.  
  
  
Zhen stared at the entrance of the tent as the sound got louder and closer. Tension made his heart race with uncertainty as to who’s coming or what.  
  
  
Unceremoniously, the owner of those footsteps waltzed in and glared at Zhen himself with visible anger. Its entire small body were covered in bright blue scales, whereas the entirety of its gut and chest area were hued in a lighter version of blue. Most of its slim, elongated head were dominated by large golden eyes, and an orange crest resided on the top.  
  
  
Zhen stared at the menacing club it held in its ebony scaly claws. It was well drenched in blood and gave him the feeling this will be his executioner. His gut’s muscles contracted in fear of such a grim assumption, but it seems the truth in front of him was unavoidable. He swallowed his own saliva and knelt his head down to confront his fate. But that loud thumping sound was made again instead of something plunging into him.  
  
  
Zhen looked up to see the reptile-thing slowly walk away with its long slender tail bouncing from side to side. He wasn’t sure why it walked on in like that only to leave a few seconds later, but Zhen learnt something neat a long time ago to deal with these reptilian creatures. He wasn't sure how good it'll be, but he thought he may as well try it out before dying.  
  
  
“…Hey.”  
  
  
The reptilian-thing turned back with its golden eyes wider than before, much to Zhen’s amusement.  
  
  
“…Saurian?”  
  
  
“Yes, it turns out learning the most inferior language has its uses, besides sounding incredibly special,” Zhen answered back with a mocking smile.  
  
  
However, the Skink didn’t take such a sneer as lightly, and moved towards the chained rat with murderous silence.  
  
  
“Wait! I’m but only an insignificant pebble on the vast dirt, waiting to be squatted and stepped on…” Zhen’s body shivered with an innocent smile, “…Please don’t kill me.”  
  
  
The Skink stopped his silent approach and pleasurably smiled at such a dramatic turn of words.  
  
  
“That’s better… If anyone’s going to kill you, you’re already dead.”  
  
  
“Heh, totally,” Zhen replied back with nervousness plaguing his shaking muscles. He’s not fully aware of it, but his mind is afraid of the inevitable time it’ll shut down without its consent.  
  
  
A period of silence presided over the two as the skink stared at its prisoner. It never heard of a rat being able to speak saurian, let alone with such fluency. Although the accent of its words sounded highly unnatural, it understood this armored vermin fairly well. Such fluency graced the skink’s ears when the rat spoke up with its high pitched voice again.  
  
  
“What’s your name by the way?”  
  
  
“Tenx.”  
  
  
“Mine’s Zhen Headrunner. Zhen stands for preciousness and rarity,” Zhen proudly explained with a graceful upward tilt of his head.  
  
  
“Really? Not precious enough to not be caught prisoner I see,” Tenx chuckled lightly with his claws gripping his mouth.  
  
  
“Well… Death would honestly be a fate worse than being enslaved for the rest of your life…” Zhen embarrassedly responded before turning his head down, “To die and end up in an endless suspension where you can’t feel, touch, or hear anything…”  
  
  
Tenx waited for this Zhen to finish up on his sentence, but nothing came to be of it. He stared at Zhen’s kneeled down state and felt the pain that Zhen was experiencing, seep into his own mind. He himself doesn’t want to die either, but something conflicted with his continual wish of not doing so, at least in the far future.  
  
  
“I disagree.”  
  
  
Zhen’s disgruntled face lifted up to see Tenx’s head inclined towards the roof of the white tent with a slight smile.  
  
  
“I like to think that we as the first serve a higher cause of the Old Ones, not merely because they’re our creators, but to make something incomprehensibly good of this broken world for others…” Tenx’s head descended to reveal his smile turning wider, “When that cause is fulfilled, I wouldn’t fear death at all.”  
  
  
Zhen was in utter shock at what he just heard. He thought these reptile-things were intellectually inferior beings to be enslaved and killed. But this particular thing is contradicting such firmly held stereotypes in a very scary manner.  
  
  
“What about the skaven? Why fight?”  
  
  
Zhen pondered on that question but couldn’t come up with an answer at all. In fact, he didn’t know at all. Zhen gestured his head at a humongous pile of shiny gems. The only thing he could’ve thought of.  
  
  
“I see then… inanimate objects that hold an illusion of wealth and power,” Tenx uttered out with great contempt whilst making his voice deeper and darker. The scaly grip on his club hardened as did his furious anger.  
  
  
“Then our cause is just! We will win this WAR!”  
  
  
Zhen instinctively flinched with his back grinding at the table leg behind him. His heart sank at such an outburst.  
  
  
“O-Ok… not like I won’t be able to do anything about that.”  
  
  
It took a while, but Tenx sedated himself from Zhen’s nervous submission, and even smiled slightly. Once again, silence presided over the atmosphere inside the tent. Tenx studied Zhen’s fancy etiquette of armor and well-made clothes that distinguished him from the many similar malnourished rats he fought and saw die. However, It often meant Tenx’s big golden eyes pierced into Zhen's mind, making the latter extremely uncomfortable by each second that passed between them.  
  
  
Suddenly, Zhen's beady eyes widened in horror. Tenx was surprised by this and wanted to ask what was going on, but something deep in his mind told him to turn around instead.  
  
  
Alike Zhen, Tenx’s own golden eyes also widened with his gut sinking.  
  
  
A bloodied Saurus stood at the entrance of the tent with its golden armor dented and stained. It was slightly slouched against the colossal spear it was holding as support. With its small red eyes, it stared at both Tenx and Zhen with unsettling silence. Finally, it limped once from the entrance.  
  
  
“Step aside, Skink.”  
  
  
Tenx’s muscles promptly contracted in accords to the saurus’ order. But Tenx himself wasn’t sure what Kha’kor would want with Zhen. Everywhere he looked at Kha’kor, he could see numerous wounds that had opened up on his scaly skin. Blood had literally converted his powerful blue sheen to a redden hue and he looked weak with each stride.  
  
  
Zhen gulped his own saliva at the sight of such a fearsome figure. This is the one that has defeated his own army single-handedly against all of the odds stacked against it. Zhen slightly lowered his head in shameful submission.  
  
  
“A-As you can see He-Here, I’m totally defenseless and ripe for your interrogational needs.”  
  
  
Kha’kor’s pained limp stopped with mild surprise at what this vermin just uttered and stared into the rat’s fearful eyes.  
  
  
“I never saw you command your pathetic excuse of rats, or fight alongside them.”  
  
  
“R-Really?” Zhen replied back nervously, as he recalled what happened before being knocked out.  
  
  
“They were masterfully encircled by cohorts I hid all around the encampment,” Kha’kor explained with a maniacal grin brimming across his face, “They’re all dead now.”  
  
  
Zhen's bewildered eyes stared back at Kha’kor absolutely dumbfounded. To be out matched physically by these reptile-things is one thing, but to actually be outsmarted by them!? The grey fur that proudly denoted him as a skilled tactician and thinker was all a lie then… all of it.  
  
  
In Zhen’s wallow of shame, he didn’t notice that Kha’kor took an additional two limps forward, stopped, and gripped his spear with both of his scaly claws…  
  
  
“Wait, he’s defenseless!” Tenx yelled with all of might as he figured out exactly what Kha’kor was going to do. His heart throbbed, his mind dominated by the fear he knew from combat all too well.  
  
  
“Time to DIE!” Kha’kor roared as he plunged his spear in an untrackable sideways swipe.  
  
  
“NO, PLEASE, I WANT TO LI-“ Zhen shrieked louder with his shorter vocal cords, but couldn’t finish his blood curdling plea. Kha’kor’s humongous spear cleaved through Zhen’s long neck, instantly dropping Zhen’s head onto the moist dirt.  
  
  
Zhen’s headless body slowly slumped to the side and gorged out a pool of red hot blood onto the ground beside his head.  
  
  
Tenx’s perception of time literally froze as if a sledgehammer thwacked him in the stomach. From Tenx’s point of view, he could see the wide, red cavity that used to connect Zhen’s functioning head with the rest of his body.  
  
  
“What the mahrlect were you doing, Skink?”  
  
  
Tenx’s utter shock was disturbed by that lowly grumble of saurian seemingly unfazed by the gruesome act it just committed.  
  
  
“…Y-You murderer.”  
  
  
“Murderer? Interesting word to describe this,” Kha’kor looked down onto his latest kill with an emotionless expression before limping off towards the tent’s entrance.  
  
  
Tenx’s blood boiled and his body shook with rage. He was angry Kha’kor could do something so incredibly depraved to another living creature and not care at all.  
  
  
“Why?! This isn’t right, this isn’t justifiable!”  
  
  
Kha’kor turned around and glared at the Skink’s shaking body before continuing his way out of the gem infested tent. He wanted to get some rest for the duties that will eventually come for him, and this shrieking Skink wasn’t going to help that.  
  
  
Kha’kor was pleased to see the heavy rain stopped, and instead, only tiny rain drops fell from the dark clouds above onto his pained scales. He still pondered on why the Skink fed the enemy that would’ve easily turned around and betray him. He had heard multiple rumors of Skinks behaving in such a way towards the enemy, which made it worrisome there's such an example hiding in his army. Perhaps that’s the major downfall of Skinks. Not their inadequate physical strength, but rather their day to day psychological quarrels that prevents them from earnestly fulfilling their duty in service of the Old Ones.  
  
  
Kha’kor mockingly smirked at himself for thinking so much during a tiring time. He carried himself randomly into a tent until his vision contorted into a distorted, blurry mess of his surroundings. His body collapsed down onto the dirt flooring with his bloodied spear peacefully dropping next to him.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Tenx stared at the bloody mess that was of Zhen’s corpse that talked to him only a few minutes ago. The blood stopped gorging out from his body, but as a result, there was a large pool of blood almost comparable to the vastness of the Great Ocean. Tenx knelt down to Zhen’s bloody head that still had its horrified expression and wept. In Tenx’s surge for his insatiable greed, he wept for the head to will itself back to life and talk to him again. But it never responded. Instead, both Zhen’s head and its body ignored him in their silence.  
  
  
An empty feeling soon overcame Tenx’s whole body as he still stared at the corpse of Zhen. It made his muscles weak and brittle, his mind ached with painful throbs, and an immortal hole carved into Tenx’s gut. Eventually, he found it hard to stand competently.  
  
  
Tenx silently sent a prayer to the Old Ones, the forthbringers of the Great Plan, to give Zhen’s soul peace.  
  
  
The enemy of his cause and theirs.


	5. Traumatized Betrayal

Ominous clouds stretched across the vast sky, casting shades of darkness upon the jungles of the Southlands. The once proud skaven war camp of Zhen Headrunner, poised to capture Zlatlan, stood desolate of the mighty rats. Instead, their crushed bodies laid upon the dirt, littering in the tents' shadows. Their greatly idolized leader nowhere to be seen before everything was lost. Victorious, the Lizardmen warriors of faraway Hexoatl settled down to recover their energy sapped from the savage battle they decisively won.  
  
  
However, Tenx had other desires. His mind raced with obscene pictures of Zhen’s decapitation diluting his senses. He needed help, and earnestly knew if he’s to forget about this dammed vermin warlord that had been tormenting his mind for the past endless hours, he needed helpful contact. Running from tent to tent, he occasionally peeked in to find Saurus and Skinks alike sleeping on dirt.  
  
  
One Skink had its back turned towards the entrance of its tent, its orange crest slumped off the side of its resting head. Most importantly, for Tenx, its club had no blades on it unlike his own. He dropped his club down, and approached it with his claws tensed for this Skink’s consolation.  
  
  
Without much care at all, Tenx yanked its shoulders.  
  
  
“Yolotli, Yolotli!”  
  
  
Yolotli’s eyes groggily opened at the hurried mention of his name. Smooth, white walls of the tent’s lining, greeted him along with the comfortable dirt that made his sleeping space. The violent shaking that disturbed his peaceful sleep, stupefied him further for he knew for sure his muscles wasn’t the culprit behind this wretched disruption of a warrior’s most needed down time.  
  
  
Yolotli’s body swiveled on itself, and met a pair of large, golden eyes just like his, stare at him with a rather heart touching mixture of happiness and sadness brimming in its eyes. Still, the fact this Skink disrupted his sleep angrily hanged on his mind; and he knew exactly who this was.  
  
  
“Mahrlect! Wake me up again like that, and my sanity isn’t going to be the one paying!”  
  
  
Tenx retrieved his claws in slight embarrassment, “…Sorry, just wanted to talk to you.”  
  
  
Yolotli signed under his breath, and his body slithered up from his slouched position. The slight anger that purged him withered away before his body stood at a height similar to Tenx’s own.  
  
  
“About what?”  
  
  
“I’m curious… Is it normal to feel pity for your enemies?” To Tenx’s horror, pictures of horrid decapitation started to flood his mind yet again before elaborating further, “I mean to not stop thinking about them after they drop to the ground and die…”  
  
  
Yolotli glanced at Tenx’s eyes that were happily divided between happiness and sadness in emotion, now fully reaped in sorrow. Ever since he met Tenx, something in him was affectionately different from the rest. He reminded himself of his past…  _his past self._  
  
  
“Absolutely,” Yolotli uttered before taking a small step forward, “Everyone, at some point of their lives, feel pity for the terrible suffering they cause.”  
  
  
Tenx blankly stared into the humble Yolotli without much to contribute or argue with. He didn’t know what to think as he looked down onto the vast dirt particles that separated him and Yolotli.  
  
  
“But hey, when their rusty swords start swinging, don’t hesitate.” Tenx’s head perked up at the resolute sound of Yolotli’s voice, “Lest their blades plunge into you, and turn you into a hapless, bloodied mess devoid of soul first.”  
  
  
“I can’t agree more, but something beckons me to have mercy on them when the rare opportunity presents itself,” Tenx disputed before continuing on, “…Same for you, no?”  
  
  
“Me? No, not really,” Yolotli responded as cold, dark images of his past showed themselves before his very eyes.  
  
  
“But your clu-“  
  
  
“I’ve seen what these vermin-spawn are capable of when they raided my temple city…” Yolotli bitterly explained with the same anger that purged his heart earlier before, only with much more bloodlust for the ones responsible, “They took nothing, yet everything of myself from me.”  
  
  
Tenx looked at Yolotli whose emotions were beginning to decay into a darkened state, and as a result, his mind stood alone, desolate of ways to reply and console its friend.  
  
  
“Ever since that dreadful day, I’ve always wanted to find those responsible and kill them…” Yolotli’s heart sank as he continued to reveal the truth of his inner-self he had always despised, “…I didn’t follow through with my hatred as every kill somehow tormented on my mind until I couldn’t bear the insanity anymore,” Yolotli solemnly smiled at his beloved club that took him hours to convert into something nearly non-lethal, “Perhaps I’m just too weak for war.”  
  
  
Tenx stood there baffled at such a monologue he heard. There was nearly too much information to make sense of, but Yolotli’s insistence of his  _weakness_  enraged him the most.  
  
  
“You’re not WEAK, Yolotli!”  
  
  
Yolotli’s head flinched at such an outlandish outburst. The irony of consultant becoming the consulted toiled on his mind, albeit Tenx wasn’t doing much of a great job. Then again, neither was he as well, he thought to himself whilst sedating his nerves.  
  
  
“…I mean, you do remind me of  _Xa’yaotl_ a lot.”  
  
  
“R-Really?” Yolotli’s voice grew hoarse as tragic memories started flooding into his mind alike frenzied jungle swarms. He wanted Tenx to stop right there…  
  
  
“Reading about his betrayal at the encirclement of Quetza, and the adventures that came before, was the first thing I did when I spawned,” Tenx swiveled his head to the right where Yolotli’s blade-less club laid, “He is, indeed, very much hated, but something in his self-less acts of mercy rekindled a pyre inside me for compassion… I feel like the same would be true for everyone else if they just stopped for a second, and read.”  
  
  
Tenx’s head realigned on to Yolotli, only to find Yolotli’s head unsettlingly knelling down. His heart sank, and he wanted to know why Yolotli was doing this. Reaching out with his claws, he settled on consulting Yolotli’s shoulder.  
  
  
However, instead of Tenx’s claws consoling Yolotli’s shoulder, Yolotli’s head raised with fury brimming in his eyes, and a clenched fist that rode up into Tenx’s gut. Tenx’s eyes widened before Yolotli followed up with another uppercut on his chest, launching him back-down onto the dirt.  
  
  
The innards of Tenx’s gut brutally contorted, and with it, came the searing pain that made any and all of his movements nearly impossible. His eyes looked up at the treacherous culprit with lividness tainting its aura.  
  
  
“W-Why?”  
  
  
“Don’t say that name near me… Ever.”  
  
  
Tenx's face widened with a grin, his rage fumbling upon a betrayed mind, “I can say any name however and whenever I please, XA’YAOTL!”  
  
  
Tenx immediately pulled himself up, and charged at Yolotli with his claws clinched furiously for revenge.  
  
  
Yolotli’s heartbeat raced through his chest at the sight of Tenx charging straight at him. He didn’t know how this is happening and why Tenx is charging at him as if he’s a rat-spawn to be quickly squashed without remorse. However, something else propped itself up in the deep, dark corners of his mind.  _No, why did I do that?_  
_  
_  
Yolotli quickly sidestepped to his left, easily dodging Tenx’s admittedly sloppy charge, and prepared himself for any more of Tenx’s attacks. Tenx furiously lashed out onto Yolotli with his claws, but only the defenseless air bared the brunt of Tenx’s assault, only making his rage more insatiable by each passing second.  
  
  
Yolotli easily predicted Tenx’s every move before responding with yet another uppercut nicely placed in-between the small amount of time Tenx had to recuperate his strength, and lash out again with his claws. The uppercut staggered Tenx, which provided Yolotli with the perfect space to powerfully kick Tenx in his gut and send him flying right back at the tent’s entrance.  
  
  
Ached, Tenx laid there with the all too familiar pain searing throughout his body. His club laid there with him conveniently right beside his body… Without a second thought at all, Tenx grabbed his club and leered at the treacherous Yolotli.  
  
  
Yolotli stared at Tenx with utter disbelief at the bladed club that was shaking uncontrollably. Tenx’s overall aura oozed hatred in a way he had never seen before in a long time, which made him slightly fearful of Tenx’s sanity deteriorating further, until the very bridge that separated ally and enemy crumbled.  
  
  
The Skinks' glares furiously interlocked with each other as both sides saw each other clearly, and yet, the motivations and thoughts of the other side, obscured themselves with hatred, and lack of understanding. Tenx’s uncontrollable shaking cooled down significantly, but still leered at Yolotli with apparent blood lust. Eventually, Tenx’s shaking stopped all together as the two still glared at each other, none willed to move or say anything.  
  
  
Tenx slowly picked himself up with his club as he set his tainted mind upon exiting out of the tent. Yolotli stood there, staring at Tenx whom was walking away from this ordeal that could’ve ended up with one of them injured, or worst, dead. He’s happy there’s peace in his tent, but can’t help but question the reasoning behind brutally punching Tenx in the gut. In fact, he didn’t know why his claws rode up into Tenx’s gut at all.  _The separation of soul and body?_  
_  
_  
Tenx solemnly trudged himself by the many tents without a thought in his mind at all. He didn’t want to have any thoughts in his mind, only to forget and live his life unbound of the past. His own tent appeared in front of them with its rough, brown hue. He was going to enter into it and fall asleep. However the sound of a blunt object strangely being stricken at by something else sharp, graced his hearing. He barged into the neighboring tent to find an orange crested Skink sitting among a sea of bleak colored bottles.  
  
  
The two stared at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to say to the other.  
  
  
“…Care to join me?” The Skink questioned with the most dulled out expression Tenx had ever seen before that wasn't etched on the contemplative Slann.  
  
  
Tenx eyed the bottle it was holding with extreme uncertainty. He didn’t know what these potions were and why this Skink was hoarding all of it, but he conceded his worries anyway and joined the Skink in its orgy of drinking. He picked up a bottle, only to find strange inscriptions dotted across his.  
  
  
“What are these? Some kind of potion?”  
  
  
“Dwarven ale, actually.”  
  
  
“Ale?” This word had never graced Tenx’s ears before, and it sounded completely outlandish, “What does this  _ale_ exactly do?”  
  
  
“…Nothing,” The Skink stopped chugging and examined its own bottle extensively, “It doesn’t help or contribute to your body’s strength at all,” Grinning, it explained once more, “However, I’m finding that this stuff, for whatever reason courtesy of the Dwarfs, delivers your tattered soul onto uncharted lands of pure ecstasy.”  
  
  
“Huh?”  
  
  
“…It makes you forget,” the skink Uttered before swinging its bottle yet again.  
  
  
Tenx looked at his bottle with appreciation at the word  _forget_. He had been through things he definitely wanted to forget, but he wasn’t sure a mere thing such as  _ale_  could be capable of such a powerful feat.  
  
  
The cork flew open, and the bottle’s ethereal, golden liquid enveloped Tenx’s tongue. It slightly burned the innards of his mouth, and a nutty, fruity sensation soon followed in the ale’s path. Dreaded memories of the rats he killed, Zhen’s decapitation, and Yolotli’s wretched treachery evaporated into hot air amidst his mind’s lust for more.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The sun’s glare furiously assaulted the lustrian jungle lands without remorse. An orange crested Skink, typical of the worker’s cast, ran with haste above the harsh undergrowth. Soon, ancient walls of a temple city showed itself in its golden eyes.  
  
  
The Skink ran itself into the temple city’s entrance, and up the ridged stairs of one of the many resolute temples that dotted the city. It charged past the eternity chamber in utter fear of what the vile Skaven could’ve taken from its own city.  
  
  
Piles upon piles of golden plaques laid in a rather nonchalant room. To the Skink’s happy delight, they have strangely taken nothing from the city’s golden plaque vault when they had their scrawny little tails prowl on his city. It excitedly ran back down from the temple until collapsing to a standstill from continual exhaustion tiring its muscles.  
  
  
The whole city was desolate of all life, except for the Skink itself whom panted and relaxed near a spawning pool. It was sternly told by its superiors not to return to this city in logical fear that the Skaven infested the temple city with their deadly, infectious diseases. But it couldn’t give a Stegadon’s arse, for the Skaven were nowhere to be seen, and better, they never even took anything.  
  
  
Rippling with a torrent, the spawning pool right beside the skink showed signs of its livelihood. The skink couldn’t believe it forgot about the spawnings that would come into fruition even if a temple city was abandoned. It stood at full attention to greet the new spawnings and brief them on their situation.  
  
  
However, something terribly demented and disfigured emerged fourth from the pool. It expected Skinks or even Kroxigors, but instead, pitch black figures trudged their way towards the lone Skink itself. Their bodies were very similar to his own, yet they had no crests, and horrifyingly, most were missing limbs. Some of them tripped as soon as they emerged as a result of missing one of their legs. Others bobbed heavily from side to side as they walked mindlessly towards the Skink.  
  
  
The desperate Skink waved in front of them to get their attention and help them! But they never responded. They walked limb-less as they were until some of them collapsed, not paying mind to the frantic Skink doing everything in its power to get their attention.  
  
  
Crazed, the Skink charged at one of the figures to save it. Blood secreted out of the figure’s body when the Skink tried with all of its might to stop it from walking mindlessly into its death. Few seconds of desperate embracing passed, before the embraced figure stopped responding with its bodily movements. It slowly began slumping down to the cold, hard ground in front of the Skink's horrified eyes.  
  
  
Blood had bathed the Skink as it stared at the mangled corpse of the spawning it tried its hardest to save, but couldn’t. To the right, it noticed wide, blue heads emerging from a pool not far from itself. Immediately, it rushed forward at the pool with erratic thoughts racing through its mind of healthy Kroxigors being its salvation from this madness that’s decaying its own sanity. It waited for a time that went by incredibly fast, staring down at the pool with its reddened eyes hungry for anything that's intelligible and pure from this...  
  
  
However, alike the disfigured Skinks, the Kroxigors had most of their limbs missing as well. They slowly trudged forth straight towards the Skink in a manner similar to the darkened figures, until some of their bulky, heavy bodies fell earlier, while some persisted in their hapless struggle.  
  
  
The Skink’s knees collapsed. Its eyes widened in incomprehensible horror. All around it looked, death had embraced its city with not a healthy soul to help it. Corpses of disfigured Kroxigor and Skink littered the city, with some flailing their disfigured bodies about mindlessly. Its own mind caved in as it still stared; its thoughts slowly becoming insensible stretches of time unable to be discerned from the visual surroundings tormenting its mind.  
  
  
A pointy claw poked the Skink’s back, eliciting it to turn around.  
  
  
Three feathered Skinks, fully limbed and healthy, stood with clubs in claw. Their eyes burned with immortal hatred, as the clubs mercilessly raised above the lone Skink’s head.  
  
  
“STOP BETRAYING US, XA’YAOTL!”  
  
  
Xa’yaotl’s heart raced as the clubs quickly ran down onto his head, set on brutally smashing in his head.  
  
  
Yolotli’s eyes shot wide open, and his heart throbbed uncontrollably. He could’ve sworn he was in a temple city, but instead, the entrance of his small tent graced his fleeting conscious. Eventually, the heart slowed down, elevating his awry mind. It would seem, to him, that dreadful day just couldn't be left to die and leave him be. The day they've taken nothing from him, and yet everything of his soul. Throughout his blood bath of a military career, that day still tormented him, unknowingly eating way at his resolve until he couldn't take it anymore. Uncountable years after that day, he ironically committed the ultimate betrayal:  _mercy..._  
  
  
With a deep sigh, his slouched body inclined and sat upright as its eyes noticed the blood stains that lined the dirt. He immediately remembered the brutal beating Tenx endured at his claws, and how Tenx chose to peacefully show himself out instead of charging at him with his club.  
  
  
The blood enraged Yolotli further when he remembered why Tenx came to him in the first place.  
  
  
_…Betrayal of self?_


	6. To Forget... or Forgive?

Tenx’s golden eyes flickered to the murky sight of large, empty bottles. His mind ached with occasional bouts of intense pain purging the strength from his muscles. It was all so dreadful as he tried to stand with his wobbly legs amongst the hundreds of bottles that littered the ground floor. A Skink across from him rested upon the dirt alike he was before with seemingly much more comfort despite the numerous bottles that surrounded it.

 

Tenx’s vision rapidly decayed into whirling images of his surroundings. Each dreadful step made the nonsensical images all the more worse despite his earnest wishes for it to stop the torment eating away at his sanity. His gut painfully tumbled from left to right in sadistic agreement, or so he thought when he reached for the Skink’s sleepy body with his shaken claws.

 

“N-Nkachi.”

 

Nkachi’s limbs pathetically convulsed and twisted in an effort to respond to his spoken name as was his eyes as well, much to Tenx’s mocking amusement.

 

“Delivers your tattered soul onto uncharted lands of pure ecstasy.”

 

“Huh?” Nkachi groggily inquired.

 

“It doesn’t do that at all!” Tenx yelled before stumbling back, “E-Everything in my body feels like crap after drinking that ale.”

 

“Word, Tenx.”

 

Tenx looked down upon the squirming Nkachi and couldn’t really tell if he wanted to get up, or just sleep away his miserable experiences that were consuming his senses.

 

“Honestly, you look p-pathetic,” Tenx’s incoherent thoughts raced across his eyes when he almost tripped on a bottle, “What you do will once dirty rats come without a club to defend y-yourself?”

 

“Relax.”

 

Tenx’s eyes couldn’t help but twitch at this response. This nonchalant temperament in this time of great misery was what got under his scales the most, or rather, the excruciating torment of his brain that made every day thinking almost as hard as fighting. He looked down onto the smudgy bottles that were everywhere, and wondered why he subjected himself to this misery.

 

“I forgot why we drank these… Do you know?”

 

“I don’t know as well,” Nkachi carelessly uttered before squirming his body inclined with a dubious smile, “A walk wouldn’t hurt, though.”

 

Contempt in Tenx’s mind immediately sparked yet again at such a ridiculous request. However, the more he thought about it, the more the future obscured itself with the throbbing pain. There wasn’t an immediate, clear picture of his future self doing something, and it frustrated him further until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“S-Sure, w-whatever.”

 

With lazy smiles, the two Skinks trudged their way through the many bottles that dotted the path towards the exit of this swirly tent. Gusts of cold, dry air graced their scales when they peeked up at the dark blue hue that stretched across the skies. It’s very early in the morning, and that visual fact constantly pinged at Tenx’s wasted mind. Nonetheless, they peered at the neighboring trees, and set their wobbly bodies past the many tents, and by the sturdy trunks that stood stalwart by them.

 

An enormous lake stretched across their weary visions, and free from the trees, the sun showed itself slowly emerging from the horizon. The lake’s surface reflected the rays of the sun, which tinted a good portion of the former a golden sheen.

 

It immediately caused Tenx and Nkachi alike to stop, and stare. Tenx had always appreciated the stunning beautifulness of nature, especially when it came right at you unexpected.

 

“Isn’t it beautiful? Really makes you wonder what else we’re missing.”

 

Nkachi tiredly glanced at the reflection that mockingly bounced off on his eyes.

 

“…It’s just a damn lake.”

 

“And you’re just a damn Skink! Can’t you appreciate the wonder of nature when you see it?”

 

Nkachi’s aloof eyes veered off to the left, “Nope. Alike you and me, this lake’s fate is intertwined with the only thing it’ll eventually meet. Death.”

 

Tenx’s heart sunk at such a heavy word that clung onto his guts, “Death? How can you be so sure of yourself so as to predict something so unpredictable!?”

 

“It’s not that I’m sure of myself, but rather, I’m stating the obvious when it comes to us skinks only having a limited amount of heartbeats in our lifetimes, and the sauri only being able to have their blood drawn so much,” Nkachi sighed under his breath after those last words. Memories were starting to flood in once again. Memories he hoped would die.

 

“You wouldn’t say that to your friends,” Tenx teased with a smirk before continuing on, “Or are they just as sadistic?”

 

Nkachi’s eyes widened in absolute horror. Memories flashed before his conscious, laughing and teasing him before the heartache that soon followed.

 

"...Friends, huh?"

 

Tenx’s soul sunk at the unsettling sight that was of Nkachi’s stare. This aloof demeanor all the sudden got darker, and it made Tenx’s nerves tenser by the drifty second.

 

“Yes, I remember when they were charged on both of their flanks with impossible odds against them…” Vivid pictures of gut churning violence danced themselves before Nkauchi’s sorrowed eyes, “They tried with everything…” Teeth grinded, and Tears flowed, “And yet, I lost everyone… EVERYONE!”

 

Tenx stared onto Nkauchi whom was decaying into a teary state with absolute shock. It immediately occurred to him why Nkachi would put himself through this misery the ale wrought onto him and be fine with it. To forget the horrific past, and live life in peace. His head slowly kneeled when he thought about that, and how much of the terrible ale someone would have to drink in order to reliably forget. Nkachi’s weeping was what pained Tenx the most, for he knew he was the instant catalyst for this suffering. Now’s the time for responsibility.

 

With a swift stride, Tenx gracefully embraced Nkachi’s shaking body with his head hugging Nkachi’s own.

 

“Fret not, Nkachi. Their souls are in care of the ethereal Old Ones,” Tenx’s hugging hardened along with the pain, “They in their care, would want you to carry their legacies on to you. You haven’t lost.”

 

Tenx’s own dreadful memories slowly began flickering themselves yet again, mocking Tenx’s foolish attempt of forgetting them, of FORGETTING a slice of his own soul. However, they never bothered him for he accepted their mocking tirade, and in soon time, appreciated them.

 

“Just don’t strike me in the gut.”

 

“…What?” Nkachi wearily questioned with teary eyes.

 

“Don’t suffer… please. Your suffering makes my gut’s life all the more miserable, along with mine as well.”

 

“…I see.”

 

In watchful glares of the trees surrounding them, the skinks embraced each other, and wept. The lake rippled in unison, trees swerved in agreement, and the ethereal sun raised. The pain was slowly dwindling away until it became a hardly noticeable vestigial extension of their souls.

 

After many joyous minutes, Nkachi and Tenx, separated with the former heading back to the captured skaven encampment in logical anticipation for the coming of Kha’kor’s orders.

 

Illogically, the later stayed back, and stared at the lake in all of its beautiful glory. It reminded him of home, and yet it was incomprehensibly so far away. He wondered what will become of him in this bloody future, and if he’ll even survive this war that has already consumed the lives of so much that were uncannily akin to himself. A mental laugh sounded off at those last thoughts. As if i'm any special.

 

A loud thump assaulted the still air and tensed Tenx’s heart. He quickly turned around to see an orange crested Skink standing at a height similar to his own. A few seconds later, Hatred accelerated the heart and throttled the nerves.

 

“Yolotli.”

 

“Tenx.”

 

Tenx glared with his claws clenched tightly, “You have guts for showing yourself after what you did.”

 

“Indeed, but I didn’t come to you for that.”

 

Tenx’s eyes enraged themselves, for they saw Yolotli clearly, and yet reasoning and motivations obscured themselves.

 

“I came for… for forgiveness…” Yolotli's heart raced with a kneeled head, “Please forgive ME for what happened yesterday.”

 

“What makes you so sure I’ll forget such a treacherous act!?” Tenx yelled, angrily sharpening his golden eyes further.

 

“I’m not the one who betrayed you.”

 

Tenx’s blood boiled at that wretched utterance, overflowing his senses with pure hatred. His legs instantly jolted into a charge headed straight towards Yolotli without even a second thought. Yolotli wasn’t changing his stance in order to prepare for his charge, much to his amazement. It slightly occurred to him that Yolotli was standing there as if there's not an enraged Skink charging at him with claws hungry for revenge.

 

Claw then came into contact with scaly skin, widening Tenx's eyes at such an abrupt feeling he didn't expect to feel. Yolotli’s body fell back-down onto the rough dirt from the inertia of the mad charge.

 

Tenx quickly strode onto Yolotli, laying down a furious assault of claws that punched Yolotli’s body from left and right, occasionally drawing blood. After senseless minutes of rage, Tenx’s stained claws shook uncontrollably as they hanged themselves over Yolotli. His soul tainted by the blood dripping onto his victim.

 

“…Why? WHY AREN’T YOU FIGHTING BACK?”

 

Yolotli awkwardly positioned his claw over his heart, and solemnly smiled.

 

“Work on your charging, T-Tenx.”

 

The trees stood silent along with the lake’s motionless surface, and the ethereal sun stretched dark clouds across the vast sky as if they were taunting Tenx in methodical agreement.

 

Tenx stared at the badly beaten Yolotli with utter disbelief. That last sentence hanged on him, for he didn't know why Yolotli would say such a thing after being beaten senseless. He knew Yolotli could’ve easily fought back, but didn’t for reasons that were beyond him.

 

Questions mercilessly barraged his broken mind, and not long after, the golden sheen that beautifully graced the lake, left him.


	7. Civility's Mission

Peacefully content with the bustling protrusions of undergrowth and ferns, two scrawny slave rats laid their exhausted bodies next to each other. Their poorly kept brown fur denoted the many struggles their bodies had to endure whilst running their skinny legs away to near collapse. Why these blue scaled creatures wanted to mercilessly kill them, alluded their earnest attempts of understanding. From every angle of the hanging canopy, and from every discreet shadow, death stared them down, eerily stalking their every move along the way. It daunted on their ratty minds as to why this uncommunicative and unresponsive place would want innocent rat folk such as they, to die as if they were insects destined to be feasted upon by some massive frog.

 

Nonetheless, the crackling flicker of civilization flared inside their souls, showing them the dying light at the end of this dark, unforgiving tunnel that was their struggle. Their hope fueled that insignificant light.

 

Such hope enlightened one of the rat’s nerves and muscles to fully awaken. It groggily observed its whirly surroundings before noticing its brown furred companion with shaken claws.

 

“…Conquil, C-Conquil.”

 

Conquil’s cold body twitched to the gentle yet surreal feel of his fur being caressed by something unnervingly sharp. His name calmly being spoken gave him all the respite that he needed to know he wasn’t in danger. A welcoming thought for the body that needed its rest after that terrible near-death experience.

 

“It’s time-now to move out.”

 

“…Not now,” Conquil whimpered with a lazy yawn.

 

“Come on!” Sniplit yelled as he angrily tugged at Conquil’s body, “We won’t reach-get to Skavenblight, fast-quicker if we slack around!”

 

Conquil’s prone body forcefully inclined itself away from Sniplit’s incessant tugging, “How rude! Cannot give my-my body its rest!?”

 

“…You-You will rest there indefinitely if you stay still-unmoving in this dammed place,” Sniplit retorted, glaring at Conquil to deliver the frankly logical point across.

 

Sniplit’s resolute, beady eyes gave Conquil the impression of someone being frustrated, and yet, relaxed at the same time. He felt that strange mixture after such a cold remark as well, sternly making him raise his entire body with a firm stance.

 

“Fine, whatever,” Conquil said before turning his snout around in curiosity, “which direction-way we head-going to?”

 

“I say-say up ahead!”

 

With that excited proclamation, the poorly clothed rats carried themselves along the many pressuring ferns and bushes. The seething humidity annoyingly probed at their furred bodies in unison with the merciless sunlight. Chattering bugs sounded off their incoherent calls, seemingly giving themselves a physical presence much larger in size than the towering trees. It was all so peaceful, and yet, any second from now, those blue scaled creatures with those bright orange fins could emerge themselves with their sticks, and try to kill them. Nature, in their beady eyes, was so unfairly contrastive.

 

Blue colored spikes of some unnatural origin protruded and contrasted themselves amongst a myriad of thick bushes. In one of the rat’s erratic visions, it immediately caught its interest.

 

“Sniplit, what-what’s that? A bit to the right…” Conquil pointed with one of his sharp claws.

 

Sniplit’s eyes followed suit in curiosity, and immediately found what Conquil was mysteriously bugging on about.

 

“…I don’t know.”

 

The two rats prowled across the bushes and made a gruesome discovery.

 

A humongous body laid prone on the many branches and leafs. Blue scales adorned the entire body, with the massive spikes protruding out from its large backside. Its limbs were small, yet bulky in width, and its head had massive dimensions as well.

 

However, the deep, red slashes that stretched all across the body caught their attention the most, for it would seem the body’s life was valiantly hanging on to only a decaying rope. Irregularly breathing, the body’s back arched back and forth, signaling to the rats the body was still alive.

 

Sniplit stepped back in horror, and wondered what savage beast could’ve done this, and what would happen if it showed itself here once more, “…I-I think be wise if we back-retreat o-off.”

 

“No way! We should help-assist it,” defying Sniplit’s logical fear, Conquil stepped forward towards the body.

 

“Fool-idiot! What are we going to do once the perpetrator comes back!?” Sniplit shouted with a grab on Conquil’s shoulder, “We’ll be kill-slayed!”

 

Conquil abrasively smacked Sniplit’s claws away, staring him down with unwavering eyes.

 

“Go ahead and run. I’m staying.”

 

Sniplit stared right back into those resolute eyes, and honestly couldn’t understand what got into Conquil. Just a day ago, Conquil was pathetically lying down on the jungle floor, waiting for his malnourished body to mercifully die. Now Conquil was throwing away his life around as if it was only a trivial leaf drifting down from the towering trees above.

 

“…Why?” Sniplit questioned before his heart sank once more, “There’s no-nothing to do for this thing!”

 

“Have you face-confronted death before?”

 

“…” Sniplit’s entire head flinched backward in surprise at such an awkward question.

 

“When I was near-closing on death, everything around-surrounding me turned quiet,” Conquil bitterly reminisced as his glare started wavering, “Voices start-began ringing in my mind incessantly.”

 

“...That’s,” Sniplit uttered, struggling to complete his reply at what he just heard, “…Scary.”

 

Conquil heavily sighed. From that day onward, those strange, disembodied voices daunted on him. They left an immortal mark on his soul, a mark he fearfully believed was truly inerasable.

 

“The scariest part, was that they were familiar…”

 

Before Sniplit could chime in, Conquil conveniently swerved his eyes onto the large body, “Who knows if this… thing is experience-enduring the same thing I was?”

 

Sniplit rapidly glanced at the body, and Conquil with great difficulty. He didn’t know if Conquil’s talk of disembodied voices chattering inside his mind made any more sense than helping a complete stranger that’s nearing its death. A familiar feeling washed over his entire body. It vividly reminded him of the time he saved Conquil from near death, and how it strangely, but pleasantly gave him another purpose to run his scrawny legs for.

 

“Fine,” Sniplit said with a heavy sigh before continuing on, “What can we do?”

 

Conquil smiled as he erratically hogged a clump of leaves. He strode towards the scaly body, plastering on the leaves against the many wounds that were opened upon the rough, scaly skin. Sniplit stood dumbfounded at this for only a second, before realizing that Conquil wanted to cover up the many wounds with the surrounding foliage.

 

Erratically running from bush to fern alike, they plastered varying amounts of plant matter onto the strange skin that was unlike of their own. The easy, but tedious work of covering all of the bitter wounds ended before they stepped back, and observed their work.

 

Conquil noticed a large slash was still present at the base of the thing’s thick neck. A slithering line of plant matter still resided in his claws. They unanimously decided not to tend to that wound which was incredibly close to that bulky, ominous head adorned with massive teeth. Even his guts dropped in sight of such fearsome teeth, driving his mind to slightly wonder what would happen if this scaly thing awoke.

 

Eyeing the thing’s spikey back, Conquil quickly decided he should walk upon the body, and approach the wound from behind, so as to make it physically impossible for the thing’s head to snap at him.

 

Excited, Conquil easily strode onto the relatively unscathed tail of the massive beast. However, a second later, the body suddenly started to rock side-to-side violently, threating to throw Conquil’s balance off!

 

“CONQUIL!” Sniplit shouted, trying to make sense with his racing heart as to why Conquil was on top of the shaking body, risking his life needlessly. He stepped forward, staring at the struggling Conquil, but for some reason, despite his racing heart, his muscles couldn’t commit with the raging blood flowing through them.

 

Nearing the baseline of the wide neck, Conquil finally got to the large, deep cut despite the incessant shaking that almost threw him off onto the branches below. The energy was seeping out from his muscles, draining his will to hang on tight and finish this. He spread the piece of foliage across the large cut and pressed on hard. Soon, the violent turbulence that reverberated throughout his own lightweight body abruptly stopped.

 

Conquil looked down onto the strain of foliage, and then onto his brown furred self. His heart raced, and his senses prickled at what just happened. Much to his relief, the body wasn’t dead, for it was still breathing, albeit with much slower intervals. He stared onto the concealed wound with tiredness creeping into his nerves, lovingly content that this thing... whatever it is, will live.

 

Conquil fell onto the large, scaly snout, and tumbled onto a pile of leaves. Methodically for a second, he felt the warm puffs of air assault his brown fur. Twice, and thrice, the air consulted him further as his half-awake eyes swerved and met a pair of small, golden eyes staring at him. He stared back into those methodical eyes that were devoid of emotion, and yet, projected strength into his own soul. He dared not move even an inch in front of such massive teeth that could brutally bare on to his flesh any second from now.

 

They laid there, staring into each other’s eyes. Hearts raced; thoughts faded amidst the time stopping stare that could conform to a brutal scene of blood and gore.

 

Logically, he would’ve already been torn apart, but that wasn’t happening in front of his horrified eyes. Peace unsettlingly besieged the atmosphere of around him as time went on, making him able to decipher the feelings of those small, golden eyes. An otherworldly feeling twinged at his guts, and a second later, it was as if his own soul self-constructed empathetic attachments to this ugly, massive thing.

 

Suddenly, Conquil’s body hooked upon the hardy grip of claws that were akin to his own. Sniplit furiously charged until the foolish Conquil was far away from the teeth’s deadly aura, the aura that shuddered his soul to the core. His claws clenched intensely at the foolish rat before them.

 

“IS LIVING THAT MEAN-WORTHLESS FOR YOU TO RISK IT FOR THIS!?”

 

“Hmph. How contradictory,” Conquil coarsely remarked.

 

Sniplit’s glare sharpened at this but his brain didn’t, for he couldn’t come up with words for this madness.

 

“Remember how you save-rescued me from certain death?” Conquil smiled as he struggled to incline, “You did so, even though you could’ve save-preserved the food for yourself.”

 

"Don’t be ridiculous!” Sniplit shouted, thinking how Conquil could even compare that to what had happened before his very eyes, “You’re not the same as this… beast-thing!”

 

“Maybe so… but, can’t you see-observe the thing’s soul crying out for civility? It’s the same thing we weep-cry out for in this dreaded place.”

 

“I can only see-observe madness,” Sniplit coldly remarked, crossing his arms in clear disgust.

 

“You can’t, because you only observe-focus with what your eyes see!”

 

Sniplit’s patience dissipated at Conquil’s inability to see he’s withering away his life by helping this thing that would have no problem killing them at all. He imagined the carnage this thing could inflict, uninjured and freed.

 

“Hey, for a second, I think-feared it would actually kill me,” Conquil admitted before explaining once more, “But it had its timeless opportunity in its grasp, but never took-exploited it.”

 

Sniplit instantly remembered the time he was shocked when it all unfolded. Why he just stood there, and why he forgot about it, became a mystery that pinged at his mind, annoyingly making him extensively ponder on that very moment.

 

“Also, I truly did mean it when I said-spoke its soul was crying out,” Conquil recalled his vivid images, tearing his heart as he raised a claw above it, “When I stare-leered into those eyes, I never saw the hatred that was infested in the many eyes of the many small, blue figures we ran from,” Conquil raised his entire body and stared in respect at the scrawny rat before him, “I instantly knew from then on, it wasn’t much different from us at all.”

 

Sniplit stood there, staring at the resolute Conquil in awe. There were no more logical arguments left, no more logical reconsiderations to backfire Conquil’s crazy reasoning. It was still undeniably crazy what Conquil did, but the more he thought about it, the more his empathy extended to something he would’ve thought impossible.

 

“FINE,” Sniplit loudly uttered before turning around to face the body, “What are we going to do with this thing?”

 

“Let’s help it.”

 

“…Help-helping you is something I would desire the most… oh well.”

 

Conquil smiled earnestly, gripping Sniplit’s shy claws with his own joyously.

 

“Me too!”


	8. Unattended Ends

Confusion.

 

Such an unfathomable feeling were mostly alien to the hardened minds of the Kroxigor. Alike the incessant rain falling from clouds above, or Saurus warriors preparing for battle, everything operated in clear accordance to the Old Ones’ wishes. Everything lived out their predetermined roles in life ‘till the fateful end.

 

If not true, leaders amongst the Skink, Sauri, and Slann would toil the massive, physical prowess of the Kroxigor for utter annihilation of those who defy the clear cut logic of the world, and by extension, the Old Ones’ logic.

 

Yet, the rats that joyfully skittered around this Kroxigor, defied everything it could have logically expected. The strong desire to kill faded amidst its tranquil stare into one of the rats’ souls. Torment threatened to cave in its mind when it tried to figure out why. It was all nonsensical. All so illogical.

 

The Kroxigor moved one of its humongous arms closer, withering away a large piece of foliage plastered onto its bloodied scales. A large streak of clotted blood mocked it, showing the Kroxigor how the wound itself got there. Teeth clenched, and the blood seethed.

 

Rage.

 

***

 

Two rats pleasantly walked with bundles of foliage clinched in their arms. Their minds enshrouded in joy, for at last, they finally found something that didn’t want to kill them outright. Finally something that understands the plea of civility in a place so dreadful. It would seem the shinning beams of the sun, and the various trees and ferns that stood still, indulged in this moment of serenity as well.

 

However, something still bothered the rats’ erratic minds…

 

“Tyer?”

 

“Nah, look-seems a bit too simple for such a massive creature,” Conquil replied, fondling with his foliage.

 

Sniplit’s own foliage angrily trembled at this, “What-what have you got then?”

 

“…How about Tacitus?”

 

“Ridiculous!” Sniplit yelled before continuing on, “How do you even say-pronounce that? Tak-ah-it-us?”

 

“T-ae-S-EE-t-uh-s,” Conquil slowly uttered with a smile. He didn’t even know if this massive thing could talk, so giving it a name was quickly turning into a useless endeavor in his mind.

 

“Regardless, Tyer plain-clearly is superior, it can easily be said whenever, and you don’t have to bite-destroy your tongue saying it!”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Conquil said, admitting defeat with his smile unchanged at Sniplit’s strange insistence on giving the thing a name.

 

In fact, Conquil didn’t take into consideration what will happen after they heal the thing’s wounds. Will it come along with them? Or will it walk away and tend to its own devices? He never thought about it extensively, but the thing’s shyness daunted on his resolve to help it. Still, the thing needed help, and that kept him going nonetheless. Lest those savage, orange crested things find it first.

 

The rats continued their walking, talking occasionally along the way, until they finally reached the thing’s resting spot.

 

However, what expected to be a resting spot, quickly turned into a spot upon which a humongous creature stood, staring lively into the rats’ souls with its small golden eyes.

 

Suddenly, its massive jaw opened, and a roar of other worldly proportions soon reverberated throughout the trees and ferns, swerving their inanimate postures into violent motion.

 

The rats’ souls shuddered at such a soul shaking noise, and shortly after, the creature slowly charged at them. It was pathetically slow, yet the trunk sized legs shook the entire jungle with its massive weight stomping upon the undergrowth. The jungle flared in violent motion, yet the rats stood silent there, staring. Legs locked in place, hearts raced with incomprehensible amounts of fear occluding their senses.

 

Sniplit’s eyes finally flickered, washing his mind anew and tugging Conquil’s arm with his own.

 

“Conquil.”

 

No response.

 

“CONQUIL!”

 

Still no response.

 

“TACTIUS IS GOING TO KILL-SLAY US!” Sniplit pathetically roared with his own might, violently shaking Conquil’s entire body.

 

Conquil’s eyes flickered at those small golden eyes that were so peaceful, so methodical, now tainted in pure rage and fury, akin to the large eyes of the many they’ve ran from. Conquil threw himself to the side along with Sniplit, barely dodging the creature’s claws that swooped for them.

 

Conquil and Sniplit landed on top of each other, seriously disorientating their senses. Sniplit turned his head ‘round to find the creature slowly striding towards him with its massive jaws slightly open.

 

“Come on! Get-Get up!” Sniplit cried out, trying his hardest to get Conquil up along with him, but it would seem he totally lost it. Conquil’s eyes stared into the abyss that was the cloudy skies with his mind apparently blanked out in pure shock. Sniplit looked around him again and saw the massive creature towering over him and Conquil. Any second from now, the thing will roar and kill them, gnawing on their meat and bones, Sniplit depressingly thought.

 

However, before Sniplit could send his final prayers, a dark hued figure appeared from seemingly nowhere, jumping above the towering creature with what seemed to be a sword of sorts. It drove its sword down onto the large neck wound Conquil successful covered, spewing blood onto itself and the creature. The Kroxigor's eyes widened at the sudden feeling of extreme pain searing throughout its body. Roaring and tumbling from side to side, the creature tried to shake off whatever was slicing its neck wide open.

 

But it was too late. The figure was securely tight on the thing’s back, brutally driving its sword repeatedly onto the wound, until the loud roaring finally stopped. It succumbed down onto Sniplit and Conquil.

 

Luckily, Sniplit got himself and Conquil out of the way, seconds before the weighty body crashed down onto where they originally were. Disorientated, His glare fixated upon the mysterious figure that stood on top of the beastly creature it had slain.

 

Its overall physique matched his own and Conquil’s, signifying to him that it was one of his kin. Despite that, it was much taller than they, and slightly more built as well. The dark clothing it wore was incredibly refined, so much more than their own clothes, much to Sniplit’s slight jealousy. Its face maintained a very chilled expression as it stared onto the rats it saved.

 

“…Hey. Name’s Gingkin.”

 

“You kill-slay a gigantic beast that was going to eat us, and all you can say is hey?” Sniplit slightly smirked at this Gingkin’snonchalant tone after he heroically saved them from this fearsome creature.

 

“Sorry, I have been quite lone-“ Gingkin couldn’t finish when one of the rats suddenly rushed at him. It solemnly dropped down before the massive creature’s snout and began caressing it. Soon, caressing turned into tugging, and the rat’s eyes teared up.

 

Gingkin looked down upon the rat, widening his eyes. Sniplit followed suit as they stared at the desperate rat trying its best to revive the tough scales with its own measly claws.

 

“WHAT IS WRONG-IDOTIC WITH YOU!? THIS THING TRIED TO KILL-SLAY US!”

 

Turning around, Conquil saw Sniplit’s furious eyes glare at him. His own anger flared within him as well when those loud, bombastic words ringed inside his ears.

 

“You… You help-assisted this thing as well!” Conquil shouted, angrily pointing with his claws.

 

Gingkin’s glance swerved onto Sniplit whom was fumbling with rage. As if a slave rat crying on its knees for a mindless beast wasn’t confusing enough, it would seem the both of them tried helping this Kroxigor in an effort to increase their numbers and chances of survival. It made him smirk a little. The irony of slave rats risking their lives so much just to stay alive a little longer, satisfied him. Still, he couldn’t judge such otherworldly efforts to survive. His own life dangled upon a cliff, defying the rules of gravity and living at the same time, he thought.

 

“You control-MANIPULATED me in-“ Sniplit tried shouting out once more, but Gingkin landed right beside Conquil, consoling his skinny shoulder gently.

 

“Alright, enough of this incessant squeaking,” Gingkin ordered, brandishing his bloodied sword near Conquil, “It’s not repaying the debt-deeds the both of you owe.”

 

Sniplit froze at that indirect threat, racing his heart once again. Conquil suffered worse, for the menacing sword that stood on the opposite side of Gingkin concealed its motivations.

 

Gingkin snickered at such a tense scene he created, “Actually, It’s nothing much. Just want to know-sense where the rest of the slave rat detachment is.”

 

“Rest?” Sniplit quietly questioned with his mind trying to figure out probable answers as to what this meant.

 

“Yes. Your parent detachment.”

 

Sniplit’s mind placed the mental pieces together, and spotted the matching arrangements. Rage diluted his fear instantly.

 

“Are you imply-suggesting I’m a slave!?”

 

“Isn’t that what both of you are?” Gingkin’s face turned curious at the slave’s hot headed attitude, making him retrieve his consoling hand away from the other slave’s shoulder.

 

“I am a rat-rat!” Sniplit shouted as he got up, “As Free-equal as you.”

 

Gingkin’s eyes sharpened, powering his legs to walk past the kneeling rat.

 

“Indeed, you are a rat,” Gingkin calmly stated with a wide grin forming upon his face, “A slave-rat that lives, fights, and dies for rats like me.”

 

Conquil turned around to see Gingkin staring down Sniplit with his large sword. The latter stayed firm, but was visibly shaking uncontrollably. He as well could feel his heart race at the word slave. Who does this Gingkin think he is with his superior clothing?

 

Nonetheless, the nonsense that laid before him, pinged at his mind, and he earnestly wanted it to stop before it ended itself in needless bloodshed. He grimly glanced at the wound he happily tried covering, now turned into a huge, bloody cavity. His own blood seethed when he couldn't figure out why this happened, and why those docile eyes turned themselves into a fury of pure rage.

 

As a blessing, or an introduction for even more woe, the sound of branches snapping ringed in Conquil’s ears. He knew all too well it was those orange crested things with their deadly sticks, eagerly hunting down their brown hides for some bloody reason.

 

Gingkin heard it right behind him as well, and he too, knew what this meant. He frantically charged right at Sniplit.

 

“RUN! NOW!” Gingkin roared as he tugged Sniplit’s shoulder, instantly willing the latter’s legs to life.

 

Gingkin, Sniplit, and Conquil slightly following in from behind, ran for their dear lives from the all too familiar darts that either trailed, or zoomed right past them.

 

“Bob-weave from tree to tree!” Gingkin shouted as he looked at Sniplit’s maneuvers not focusing on taking cover with the trees. He looked behind him, and saw Conquil tailing him, doing exactly as he said. Amidst the adrenaline, this provoked a feeling he hadn’t felt in seemingly years: Pride. He wondered if that was why he abandoned the war camp, settling his mind upon finding a group of rats that had virtually no chance of even surviving a fight?

 

Gingkin bobbed his head intensely. Such thoughts endangered his focus, and thus, his survival as well. He planned that he and the slaves will have to continue running until whoever’s chasing them, run out of their precious darts.

 

The three rats continued with what seemed to be an eternity, the accuracy and precision of the darts not improving at all, much to Gingkin’s joy. They reached with what seemed to be the end of the vast trees up ahead. Beyond the last line of trees, laid a vast, empty field. Darts finally stopped their relentless assault, telling Gingkin his pursuers ran out.

 

“Keep run-evading.” Gingkin ordered, slowing down his pace and fastening his grip upon the sword harder, “I’ll delay them.”

 

Both Conquil and Sniplit looked at each other with shock, before continuing onwards in Gingkin’s vision onto the fields beyond the tree line.

 

Gingkin surveyed the numerous trees and surrounding jungle foliage in search of these dastardly blue figures. They blended in awfully well with the lush, green foliage much more than what their skin color would suggest. He didn’t have to question anymore when two blue figures reveled themselves, charging at him with what seemed to be daggers in hand.

 

Patience enveloped Gingkin’s mind as he waited for the charging Skinks to come in close. His nerves turning themselves into cold stone as he waited for the onslaught.

 

Shrieking, the Skinks let out a loud battle cry as they came down upon the rat they deemed an ineffective coward to die in their homeland it dared invade with superior numbers.

 

Swiping with such unpredictable ferocity, Gingkin slashed both of their underbellies, raining a torrent of blood before him. The Skinks immediately convulsed onto the unforgiving dirt and flooded the dirt with pools of their own red hot blood.

 

Gingkin retrieved two objects that resembled branches of sorts from which they shot their darts, and respectively, two of the Skinks’ daggers as well. He settled his eyes upon the tree line where the slaves ran off into, decreasing his heart’s erratic rhythm now that the danger finally is over.

 

Surprised, Gingkin could see Sniplit and Conquil's rough, brown outlines kneeling beyond the tree line as he got closer. He bolted himself through, enlarging his pupils at the vast sight that came into fruition.

 

Scrawny corpses of slave rats, alike Conquil and Sniplit’s, laid dead upon the empty field before them. Limbs frequently propped up in their visions when they tried to pan away from this madness. But it didn’t help. The bodies laid themselves everywhere the eye could swerve away to.

 

Gingkin’s gut twinged at how many bodies there were whilst trying his hardest not to throw up. Sorrow followed instantly when he noted the brown outline of the bodies, denoting them as the slave rats he joyfully wanted to find alive, now displayed peacefully lying in their clotting blood pools. It was awfully funny. Why couldn’t I accept the obvious truth?

 

Conquil and Sniplit turned their heads around to see Gingkin staring onto the field alike they were. The beast slaying herosmirked as he suddenly threw his sword down onto the dirt in front of them.

 

Sniplit immediately flinched at this, preparing himself to shout angrily afterward, until Gingkin stepped forward.

 

“Go ahead. Kill me.”

 

Both Sniplit and Conquil’s jaws opened in surprised shock, but Gingkin continued once more before they could even find words to close them.

 

“Yes… these were, indeed, my slaves,” Gingkin’s eyes teared themselves into endless oblivion, “It would seem they lived, fought, and died for me…”

 

Sniplit’s claws reached out for the sword in clear display of fury, but Conquil’s own reached Sniplit’s first.

 

“…Who did this?” Conquil questioned, trying his hardest not to let the tears fall.

 

“The same ones that hunt us down," Gingkin answered whilst staring at Conquil, "Akin to that beast the both of you help-assisted."

 

Silence presided over the three at that revelation. Gingkin’s tears still ran down on his brown furred snout, contemplating on why the brain hasn’t stopped functioning yet.

 

“Please just kill me… my life no longer has purpose.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Conquil shouted, almost stepping on the sword by accident, “Why not help us reach-arrive at Skavenblight? I’m sure you’ll find peace there.”

 

“You talk as if it’s a morning's march away."

 

“Well… is it?”

 

“Most likely not, but I’m actually not sure,” Gingkin smiled slightly at the sudden turnaround of atmosphere. He didn’t know why these slave rats would want to return to Skaven blight, the heaven for slavers, and hell for slaves. But amidst his inner turmoil, this didn’t matter. He existed purposeless, willing to die by the revenge of the couple that seemed to be the only survivors.

 

“If you want to join us, lose-waste the slavery tripe!” Sniplit angrily stepped up with Conquil, “Such a thing doesn’t exist anymore!”

 

Gingkin’s teary eyes swerved. This hotheaded one was uniquely funny, making him almost giggle a little. Still, the future ahead of him remained lonely and desolate of any desires he could have.

 

“What he said,” Conquil uttered out, rolling his eyes slightly before continuing, “What do you say?”

 

Gingkin eyed the very sword he wanted the slaves to wield, “…Are you sure you don’t want to just kill me? I could’ve prevented this, I could-“

 

“Stop that incessant self-loathing, fool-idiot,” Conquil sternly interrupted before walking towards Gingkin with heavy steps, “Yes, It drain-sucks on me how so many could die like this, but we’ve got to push through regardless of the pain,” Conquil meekly smiled when his body unknowingly eclipsed the bloodied sword in Gingkin’s vision, “It’s only going to get worse-crappier, before it gets any better.”

 

"You're talking crap!" Gingkin yelled with his reddened eyes glaring, "YOU could've been the many that lay dead there right behind you!"

 

Conquil and Sniplit flinched at this sudden outburst before Gingkin slowly collapsed on his knees before them.

 

"...So how can you just brush this off?"

 

"I was question-wondering the same thing, you know," Conquil spoke softly, consoling Gingkin's shoulder with his dirty claws, "When you killed our beast."

 

Gingkin’s teeth clenched intensely at that. Whether or not slaves having so much more resolve than he, or finding out that he no longer has purpose, was something he couldn’t figure out as to what made him more depressed. The slave rats walked past him, signifying to him he had no other choice but to follow in their tracks where ever they thought of heading.

 

Gingkin looked back at the numerous bodies, and could’ve sworn he saw himself amongst the pile of corpses. Ahead of them, resided what seemed to be ruins of some sort of reptile-thing origin. As if it was an answer, the corpses suddenly smiled and waved at him. A howling cold breeze gusted throughout his entire body from the dark, encompassing clouds above, gently bending surrounding grasses of the field that were filled with ghastly death. Such graceful forces were highly welcoming.

 

Gingkin’s fur, however, prickled intensely.

 

_Unattended end, huh? So when will the time come when I attend?_


	9. Yuatek River

Many miles south of Zlatlan, ran the Yuatek River. For hundreds of miles, east to west, water by the uncountable tons streamed their journey down from The Great Mountains, all the way towards divine affinity into The Great Ocean. Along the way, they and their mother river etched an irreversible mark upon the lands, drowning flora and animals alike with occasional floods. For such destructive power, the river would’ve been considered a heinous blight upon the land by the many. It wasn't readily seen that way, for the river’s freshness satisfied the needs of the flora and animals it periodically kills.  
  
  
Such contradictory features of this eye-stretching monstrosity of a river slightly reminded Gingkin about himself. Killing without remorse and pillaging the reptile-things’ riches with negligible support of the slaves was his modus operandi. If anything, the slaves themselves were often a pesky thorn lodged from within in battle. Now that they're utterly crushed, he should be happy such a heavy burden was no more, allowing him to live and kill as he pleased.  
  
  
But it would painfully seem that burden was replaced with an even heavier one, bearing him down until he was one with the dreadful undergrowth beneath.  
  
  
In Gingkin’s blood drenched life of slaughter, this distressing feeling that had first haunted him for the past hour couldn’t be understood, or even made sense of. The feeling brutally stabbed his heart and robbed the strength of his poor musculature.  
  
  
It all slightly reminded him of a time long ago when he killed a human-thing, only to go back and see its brethren dig a massive hole in the dirt and throw his later-to-be convenient carrion down into it in a strange ritual-esque burial. All apparently for respect and sorrow.  
  
  
Such weak, ineffectual behavior would’ve made Gingkin laugh a long time ago. But right here, in his incessant stare of the raging natural beauty before him, the urge to mock was quickly superseded by the sorrow he would’ve laughed at when he recalled his feelings an hour before. Truly scarier than a saurus-thing charging at him, he wondered a thought.  
  
  
_Was I always this weak? Always so fragile?_  
  
  
With a controlled but deep sigh, Gingkin’s head swerved to the left of him and saw Conquil hunched with his head depressingly knelt down. Sniplit was also hunched over on the opposite side of Conquil, angrily leering at the expansive river up ahead in his usual display of fury and incessant discontent.  
  
  
These slaves to the left of Gingkin were incredibly unusual. They dreamed of reaching Skavenblight; a truly great bastion of civilization they say they themselves hailed from. No poverty, no hardship, and most strange of all, the lack of slavery were amidst the many uncanny declarations upon their beloved Skavenblight.  
  
  
Not long did it take when Gingkin’s cold realities clashed with the slaves’ fond wishes, forming a typhoon of rage and malice between the two parties that eventually led to the silence besieging the three rats.  
  
  
Gingkin didn’t mind it much at all, for the silence perfectly fitted the serene scene that was his environment. Green flora of uncountable variations encompassed his vison where ever he could swerve his eyes towards to. The only visual escape from all this green – a humongous blue river, streaming and splashing water against its drenched banks This river enveloped his mind, making his worries of past and future alike become nothing more than dying leaves drifting away with the winds.  
  
  
It wasn’t just enjoyable, it was timeless, and Gingkin could spend all day – staring at the methodical river.  
  
  
But of course, orderly peace doesn’t last forever; especially with company. Squeaking of a low tone sounded off in Gingkin’s ears.  
  
  
“…I don’t get-get it.”  
  
  
Gingkin reluctantly swerved his eyes to the left of him and met a pair of beady eyes teetering on the verge of raining tears.  
  
  
“Get what?”  
  
  
“Slavery!” Conquil shouted out with all of his might, furiously baring his rotted teeth for his savior to abhor.  
  
  
Gingkin slightly stuttered at that sudden outburst, and with Sniplit’s conjoined hissing, it seemed the quagmire of last hour resurfaced itself. No worries immediately inflamed his mind, for he was perfectly fine heeding their baseless, nonsensical claims yet agian… for now at least.  
  
  
“You’ll get it sooner or later…”  
  
  
“No-no! I refuse-reject it!” Conquil angrily stepped towards Gingkin with uncontrollable tears streaming down, “It’s crazy-unthinkable!”  
  
  
“Honestly,” Gingkin uttered before he took a step back and examined the slaves before him, “Is run-scurrying your lives away for a purpose that’s obviously false what you two truly desire?”  
  
  
Gingkin swerved his snout away to the side towards a random patch of ferns and bushes in strong display of animosity. But in truth, he cringed… at himself. He knew the feeling that he was trying to belittle all too well; even from them.  
  
  
“So, is that it then?” Sniplit questioned from behind Conquil, angrily leering at Gingkin, “You see us as expandable, worthless…” Sniplit’s enraged snout opened after a long, reckoning period, “Slaves.”  
  
  
“I…” Gingkin’s words struggled to trickle out when he turned back and saw the slaves’ furious faces stare him down. He had always known and forgotten the erratic, rebellious nature that can often show itself in slaves. But these two, right here in front of him, transcended that nature to the point it would seem they themselves actually think they aren’t who they really are. His pondered on why they were like that. Had the jungle driven their lonely minds astray? Or had they truly gotten so completely fed up with being slaves, they went towards great lengths in erasing their memories and tried writing new ones?  
  
  
“Well?” Sniplit impatiently questioned with a tapping foot.  
  
  
“Well, you two truly are worthless,” Gingkin calmly responded before staring the slaves down himself.  
  
  
The slaves’ snouts dropped at such a blunt answer. They couldn’t conjure words to detest such an unexpected response that echoed throughout their ears.  
  
  
“However, I will say-admit from personal experience…” Gingkin’s vivid memories raged before his very eyes, whether or not he actually wanted them to do so, “The slaves I’ve personally known and lead, were priceless. They were everything in my struggles – and indeed, so weak they were, yet all the more relateable at the same time when their lives and mine frequently hanged on to the uneven cliffs that were the battles we fought in…”  
  
  
Gingkin expected the slaves before them to add on or detest with their squawking, but instead, it seemed their jaws refused to shut. Turning his snout away, he slightly smirked, but not at them.  
  
  
“I guess I was a fool-idiot for loving things that were so fragile… take your focus off of them for only a second, and they’re swept away from you… so far away…”  
  
  
Conquil’s mind didn’t know what to think. He purely hated Gingkin’s continual use of the word  _slave_ , yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but sympathize with what Gingkin felt. Sniplit’s raging pyre decreased, but still burned on. The word  _worthless_  stuck on to him like mud on fur, and he furiously hated it.  
  
  
“Well, time’s a wasting by just standing here,” Gingkin realigned his snout weakly, “You two want to reach Skavenblight, right?”  
  
  
“Y-You know where it is!?” Conquil eagerly questioned, immensely astonished that they’re finally making progress.  
  
  
“I thought you said you didn’t know where it was…” Sniplit added on with a more disappointed tone.  
  
  
“I know for sure it’s roughly twenty thousand miles up north, tucked somewhere in the Old World,” Gingkin said, trying his best to restrain his urge to mock such an expansive distance they would have to cover if they wanted to reach Skavenblight, “However, I don’t know the exact tunnel routes that lead to the capital itself, and the both of you need to know this.”  
  
  
“ **Why**?” The slaves questioned in unison, making Gingkin slightly stutter at a rather mediocre question.  
  
  
“Have you two forgotten the complexity of the tunnels?” Gingkin slightly frowned that he had to spoon feed an obvious fact, “One wrong turn, and you’ll run-meet with certain death.”  
  
  
“Running away from death, and running away into death...” Conquil weakly smiled, “All the same-same!”  
  
  
Sniplit chuckled at Conquil’s dark attempt at humor. It, however, went straight over Gingkin’s rolling eyes.  
  
  
“Anyway, there’s a ra-“  
  
  
Gingkin couldn’t finish his crucial sentence when a stainless blade braced against his neck. Nearly at the same time, he spotted claws rested firmly on his right shoulder. He couldn’t see it, but he sensed another rat behind him – its blade hard pressed against his neck – perfectly prepared to slice his own throat wide open.  
  
  
“Desertion. Conspiracy. Betrayal,” the threatening voice reverberated itself behind Gingkin, “You know there’s only one cure for these.”  
  
  
Gingkin’s heart firmly accelerated itself at the well-backed up threat, “W-Wouldn’t you agree they define us rat-rats as a whole?" His head nervously perked up in an effort to get away from the blade however he could, “Also, who ar-“  
  
  
The blade pressed harder against Gingkin’s neck, drawing its drivel of fresh blood.  
  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
  
The slaves themselves stepped back in horror, for the situation that unfolded before them happened so fast, they found it hard to remember how it had gotten up to this point. They saw a fully black cladded rat embark forth from the trees above, and dashed at Gingkin from behind at incredible speed. Somehow, it didn’t even make any noise despite how fast it was.  
  
  
“Hey, where do you two slaves think you’re going?” The mysterious figure barked before easing off the blade’s pressure on Gingkin’s neck, “ _Disembark_.”  
  
  
Both Conquil and Sniplit didn’t know the meaning behind this word, or what’s going to happen to their Gingkin. They soon got the answer to their first worry when more black cladded rats emerged forth from the trees all around them. Deadly blades in hand.  
  
  
Conquil, Sniplit, and Gingkin were surrounded – their flickered anew souls hopelessly obscured by a gang of darkness whose intentions were eerily discreet.  
  
  
The Yuatek River, in the meantime, splashed and enthralled water against its drenched banks without a care in the world.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Kha’kor stared at the bloodied mess that was his spear. Two days ago, he plucked it from a Skink’s corpse. A Skink that shouldn’t had fought with such a massive weapon that dwarfed its height. It was then that he learned that the Southlands’ spawning caverns were producing negligible amounts of Saurus. In Zlatlan’s case, there wasn’t enough to fill only but a single full-strength cohort.  
  
  
This, among many other factors, were the reasons for Zlatlan’s detrimental situation in its war for survival. Such a war he was glad to be a part of anyway, for the past year enshrouded itself in a terrible peace where the raging fire of war went out cold. Thankfully, the recent battles he fought for the past few days, satisfied his blood soaked yearnings. He earnestly believed the ratty blood splatter on his spear affirmed his affinity for war… the very thing that could easily take his own life away from him as well.  
  
  
Kha’kor had to admit that was the only thing he feared. How long will it take until his Saurian body can’t handle the only thing he craved for? It seemed his own soul’s desires outgrew his body’s ability to fulfill them. His weakened state was proof of that frankly scary thought.  
  
  
Kha’kor glanced at the rat commander he killed in the tent that still wasn’t cleared of the gems that were stolen. Its pool of blood clotted up, and the warm air whiffed of the bloody stench the body reeked of.  
  
  
For some strange reason unbeknownst to him, this sight furiously enraged his blood.  
  
  
Soft footsteps sounded off in Kha’kor’s unfocused hearing, immediately making his stare brake off of the rat leader’s body.  
  
  
A small Skink adorned with colorful trinkets and feathers emerged forth from the tent’s entrance. The spear it firmly held was proportionally equal to its size.  
  
  
“Messenger Skink?”  
  
  
“Messenger? Messenger!?” Conquatza angrily trembled, “No one would want to send messages to you!”  
  
  
“Why?” Kha’kor turned confused at the Skink chief’s sudden tirade. He expected passed-down orders.  
  
  
“You’re an ungrateful oaf!”  
  
  
Kha’kor’s stomach tumbled in slight embarrassment. He realized – Skink chiefs probably wouldn’t like it if they were mentioned as simple Skink massagers – a job well suited for those that ride Terradons, but a versatile role for Skink chiefs to fulfill nonetheless.  
  
  
“Sorry – your purpose here, however?”  
  
  
Conquatza’s tremble ceased. He thought long and hard when he tried to gift the saurian commander his appreciation, only for such a gift to be turned down in such an unappreciative way, he himself destroyed it in rage. The bloody injuries that scarred his lustrian comrade gave him all the more sympathetic rationale to stop his useless berating, and actually fulfill the urgent reason he came here.  
  
  
Something, however… didn’t smell right; and it wasn’t the decapitated rat.  
  
  
Kha’kor spotted a small outline hidden in the dark corner behind Conquatza to the left. A blade suspended itself nakedly without blood to conceal its crystal clear glint.  
  
  
“ **SKINK, MOVE!** ”  
  
  
Conquatza staggered back at the sudden roar coinciding with Kha’kor stumbling weakly towards him. Before he could even detest this, a sharp blade flew through the back of his head. Acute, agonizing pain purged his conscious before a never ending pit of nothingness followed suit.  
  
  
The Skink chief’s body collapsed without argument, fueling Kha’kor’s rage as he stumbled past it. Another blade glanced off his breastplate, making his stumbling progress faster.  
  
  
More blades flew – all directed at the Saurus’ unprotected neck. The strange, well-hidden figure capitalized on its second victim with well-aimed throws which would prove fatal if they stayed true.  
  
  
It was, however, its undoing when Kha’kor deflected all of them with his spear, skillfully weaving it in a manner of defensive swings and swipes – all the while charging with undaunted rage.  
  
  
Whimpering, the figure tried to get away from the very thing it hunted. Not before the humongous spear it thought was a safe distance away, unexpectedly cleaved through his right arm and sundered it completely from its body. The humongous spear, devoid of mercy, then slashed itself across the figure’s ebony clothed back in its lust for bloody revenge.  
  
  
The black cladded figure pathetically roared out a painful cry as it fell on to the unforgiving dirt below; its arm nowhere to be seen.  
  
  
Kha’kor rushed over to the Skink chief in a frenzy. He removed the bloodied blade forcefully, pulling out blood in his desperate attempt to see whether or not the Skink was still alive.  
  
  
But it would seem the Skink died seconds after the blade impaled itself in the back of its head. Kha’kor’s throat voiced out low guttural roars of rage. If there was anything as despicable as chaos, it had to be deception; and those skilled in using it to their own ends. His failure to kill the vermin before it was too late, was what burned his innards the most. The humongous spear earnestly agreed, shaking uncontrollably with its saurian master.  
  
  
Unlike the Skink, however, the rat that he expected was dead, was limply dragging itself towards one of its blades, leaving a trail of blood. The incessant crying told Kha’kor all he needed to know it was still alive, as if the rat itself was indirectly mocking his failure to kill it. Laughing or was it crying? He couldn't tell the difference from such alien emotions that fiercely enraged him.  
  
  
With an ear shattering roar, Kha’kor jumped on the rat, tearing his prey apart, limb by limb, until only a pile of unrecognizable flesh and its own pool of blood remained.  
  
  
The Yuatek River, in the meantime, splashed and enthralled water against its drenched banks without a care in the world.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Yolotli stared at the gigantic lake before him. It was static, gentle, unmoving; akin to the cloudy skies above. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought time itself stopped and contemplated alike an immersed Slann. The tress and ferns agreed, it seemed, for they paced their swerves slower than the eyes could tell. It was eerie, yet enjoyable at the same time.  
  
  
The silence fed Yolotli the willpower to think hard about the past. Tenx scurried away from him after he had his way with revenge. He honestly couldn’t blame him, for indiscriminately punching another Skink in the gut was a heavy sin that bared upon him.  
  
  
What scattered Yolotli’s mind the most, however, was why he did what he did. It was completely incomprehensible and distant, almost as if something – whatever it was – peered into his past and commandeered his fears accordingly.  
  
  
Yolotli thoroughly sighed. All this thinking daunted on him, and he probably should go back to the encampment; lest he gets accused of deser-  
  
  
“YOLOLTI!”  
  
  
Yolotli turned to see a Skink frantically running towards him; bladed club in claw. It seemed to be Tenx, and he didn’t know the reason behind his shout… or his incessant panting.  
  
  
“Rat assassins… Kha’kor… Skink chief…”  
  
  
“What happened!?” Yolotli questioned; confused with his shaken claws at what Tenx was hinting at, and at the same time, why he's here.  
  
  
“It’s a bad time to be alone – Kha’kor killed a rat spy, not before it killed a Skink chief,” Tenx explained, panting excessively.  
  
  
Yolotli stepped back and widened his eyes slightly, and it wasn’t just the news itself. It would seem Tenx had a certain care for him despite what he had done.  
  
  
“If you’re honestly worried about me…” Yolotli said, weakly smiling, “I’m fine!”  
  
  
“Figured,” Tenx smiled back in unison, masking what little embarrassment arose from Yolotli’s assumption, “With your fighting techniques, you’re better prepared for anything than the rest of us Skinks.”  
  
  
Yolotli’s weak smile withered away. It seemed Tenx hadn’t forgotten the time he easily beat him in a fair fight, and the fact that he could do so again.  
  
  
“I just wanted to ask…” Tenx lowered his club, “Forget and forgive?”  
  
  
Surprised, Yolotli's eyes and himself twitched at Tenx. He was particularly astonished at how Tenx could forgive him for such an asinine act he couldn’t even remember. Eventually, however, such personal quarrels need to be settled however they could; lest they carry on into battle where everyone will need to depend on each other. Although it went against the guilt in his heart, he felt compelled to leave what happened last night, and the morning after, behind; enslaved only by the past.  
  
  
“...Forget and forgive.”  
  
  
“Good, I do believe we’re even then…” Tenx looked away randomly to conceal whatever he couldn’t hide, “However, I must ask you something else.”  
  
  
Yolotli stuttered slightly; unsure as to what Tenx wanted out of him yet again.  
  
  
“Who are you exactly?”  
  
  
“Eh!?” Yolotli shouted in bemusement, increasing the rhythm of his tail beating in wild confusion, “I… I am Yolotli!”  
  
  
“No skyte?”  
  
  
The two Skinks stared at each other, intimately bewildered at what their conversation devolved into.  
  
  
“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Yolotli shouted, angrily crossing his blue scaled arms.  
  
  
“Fine, whatever,” Tenx’s eyes resolutely stared down into Yolotli’s soul, strengthening the perseverance in his heart, “Let it be known, however, that it’s completely possible to live two lives simultaneously, with one contradicting the other…”  
  
  
Yolotli’s eyes widened and he took a fearful step back. It was completely impossible for Tenx to know, for he hadn’t told anyone… but how? Not long did it take when his heart started to burn with such ferocity, he could’ve roared.  
  
  
“You want to know… who I really am?” Yolotli angrily regained his firm footing, “Earn it.”  
  
  
“Eh!?” Tenx’s entire body shuddered in an uncontrollable rhythm. It took a good few seconds to realize what Yolotli wanted of him.  
  
  
“A friendly spar?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
“Fine!” Tenx threw his club away behind him excitedly, “Prepare to lose to my might!”  
  
  
“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Yolotli smirked at Tenx’s confidence. Rather naive, but nonetheless vital for winning over an opponent.  
  
  
Tenx charged headlong with his claws eager for the sensation of the familiar scales it had long ago. His mind, however, enshrouded by a sea of doubt. If past experiences were anything to go by, the doubt that occluded his mind warned him dutifully of what's to follow.  
  
  
Almost as if this spar was already decided...  
  
  
The Yuatek River, in the meantime, splashed and enthralled water against its drenched banks without a care in the world.  
  
  
_Giving mortals’ minds lasting pieces of their own they yearn for._  
  
  
_And yet washes them far away with raging currents, mindlessly._


	10. Tensed Hearts

Tenx’s heart thumped rapidly.

 

Once, twice, thrice, and an uncountable amount of times after, it thumped on as Tenx looked up towards the cloudy skies above, uncomfortably laying down flat upon his tail. The puffy white clouds oozed comfortability and tranquility with their timeless, expansive surroundings. Much the same couldn’t be said true for the rough dirt pummeling his nerves and the burning pain searing throughout his scales, though.

 

“Are we already worn out, Tenx?”

 

Tenx weakly rested a claw on his beating chest, smiling wildly. The other clenched firmly into the grainy soil beside him.

 

“No… this ends when one of us can no longer get up!” Tenx shouted, propelling his body upward into a hastily readied stance.

 

Yolotli smirked whilst crouching his entire body forward, “Good. I was worried I would find myself disappointed after such… eagerness from you.”

 

Tenx’s guts heavily twinged at this. His false sense of confidence he propped up in hopes of supporting his will to fight, crumbled like undergrowth beneath a Stegadon’s might. Still, his resolve to find out the truth clanged on to his beating heart nonetheless, and with that alone, he propelled his legs into a charge yet again.

 

Yolotli’s eyes dutifully squinted at Tenx’s charge that went straight towards them; ever watchful. The muscles tensed; the mind restrained. His excited smirk withered away in the focused storm that was his concentration.

 

Tenx lunged with all his might, propelling a clenched set of claws towards Yolotli.

 

Anticipating this, Yolotli sidestepped slightly astride from Tenx’s lunge; barely enough for his shoulder to evade. More of the lunges fiercely came, showing Yolotli Tenx clearly had improved… slightly. As he swiftly evaded the claws with each sidestep, he took notice of Tenx’s power and speed behind his throws gradually increase. However, the lunges themselves still remained predictable and clumsy at best, preventing his heart’s rhythm from increasing as he honestly would have hoped.

 

Tenx’s heart, however, incessantly pounded against his chest as he threw his claws, hitting nothing but the defenseless air. Yolotli’s evasion techniques only served to enrage his muscles further, and his mind drifted off into slight ponder as to how this could even be won.

 

Tenx’s mind enshrouded itself in perhaps too much thinking, for it didn’t notice Yolotli’s sudden stride towards him right after one of his evasions. Tenx hurriedly lunged with his other clawed hand instinctively. But Yolotli easily blocked it with one of his own, providing him a second’s opening for him to exploit. Taking the initiative, Yolotli hastily punched Tenx’s shoulder, staggering him enough for a resolute uppercut to follow up on Tenx’s chest.

 

Yolotli slightly sighed to himself in disappointment. Tenx staggered before uncontrollably falling back-down; his tail bent underneath the weight of his entire body.

 

It had been the seventh time in this nonsensical spar, and the end results remained the same. Tenx’s pained yelps reminded Yolotli of the time his innards burned when Tenx inquired on his real identity. Reminiscent of the time when Tenx came to him for help, it seemed the shackles that was his self-control withered away into nothingness, whilst his rage freely commandeered the rest of his soul. His urge to start this spar bared witness.

 

And yet, Yolotli knew all of this fully well. What truly was bothering him, however, was why…

 

Tenx’s body rolled on itself with difficulty, slowly rising before Yolotli. Wearily, his hunched over stance slowly transitioned into one readied to fight yet again; his large golden eyes undeterred and willed unlike his weakened body. The pain shouted and lambasted at him to end this suffering, but for some nonsensical reason he couldn’t comply. His own personal urge to fight dwarfed the reason he excitedly accepted this spar. Amidst the pounding pangs of pain, it felt good; so good, he forced a weak smile.

 

“Y-You’re good… too good.”

 

“Training and time does that to you, naturally,” Yolotli said; his golden eyes tinting themselves with slight sympathy, “So we’re done here then, no?”

 

Tenx growled whilst staggering a slight step forward.

 

“No… I’m still standing!”

 

Yolotli’s tail flinched in erratic bouts of swerves, utterly bemused at Tenx. Most Skinks, even he himself, would give up at these kinds of games when all seemed hopeless for them. But Tenx still seemed perfectly intent on fighting, even though he probably knew it was a hapless endeavor. Such stubbornness was fairly akin to a Saurus’, Yolotli thought with sudden sprouts of warm admiration.

 

“Alright, but this’ll be the last time,” Yolotli said before gently crouching in preparation, “Give me your be-”

 

A sudden crackling sound immediately echoed in Yolotli’s ears, instantly cutting off his reassurance. Quickly, he turned around only to see the numerous flora and trees stand behind him stoutly and as silent ever. Nothing out of the ordinary, but his frantically beating heart wasn’t so sure…

 

“What’s wrong!?” Tenx barked worriedly, flinching his body forward.

 

Yolotli couldn’t see it, but he sensed something was watching him and Tenx. Whatever it was, it mahrlect’d up badly by snapping on a branch of some sort, giving away its presence soundly.

 

Yolotli’s golden eyes swerved up towards a tree to his right, spotting a faint black outline hiding itself within a myriad of leaves and branches. Instantly, it emerged forth from above, glistening with a large sword tipped in green and fully intent for his red blood. He strode well off course from the sword’s downward path and catched a thorough glimpse of the assailant’s features as it stared straight into his soul – the soul it apparently wanted.

 

Tenx shrieked and ran for his club. Yolotli focused and relaxed the rhythm of his tail to a stand-still. The monotone flora and tress watched eerily, as the two stared with the blood of the both of them freezing, and their hearts pumping excitedly.

 

Yolotli noted the extremely excessive black attire of the figure, and its long pink tail which swerved from side to side. No doubt in his mind prevented him from thinking this was a rat that belonged to some sort of army or clan that specializes in scouting and deception. He didn’t have time to ponder anymore, for the rat with its mysteriously green tipped sword, took to the initiative, and charged.

 

Tenx frantically searched for his club, whilst casting terrified glances behind him. Yolotli was good, but fighting unarmed like that was practically suicide! After unnerving seconds of frantic searching and frustrated growls, he finally found his club, forging his claws onto the handle of it as if they were one. The ferocity in his heart rushed him back to Yolotli, only to see it was too late.

 

Yolotli’s eyes, once again, squinted as the figure’s green tipped sword came at him in a powerful, horizontal swipe. Swiftly, his body collapsed into a dive, barely dodging underneath with his bright orange crest almost meeting an ugly end.

 

Frustrated, the black cladded brought its sword ‘round, and tried forcefully landing it on top of Yolotli with the same ferocious vertical swing it attempted earlier.

 

It was but only in vain, however, as Yolotli swung his long thick tail in a strong side-ways swipe, hastily.

 

The rat clumsily tripped, dropping its green tipped sword harmlessly off to the side. Quickly, Yolotli threw himself on top of the black rat, clawing and kicking alike until he achieved victory with his Skink mass firmly pressed top of his black cladded assailant. He glared at the green tipped sword that rested right beside them, free for him to kill the rat.

 

Tenx’s eyes unnervingly widened. It instantly became clear to him Yolotli wasn’t what he seemed. Even the red crested Skinks of Tehenhauin wouldn’t have been able to turn the tables like that – not even any of the other high ranking Skinks he could’ve known about.

 

Amidst Tenx’s stomach churning episode of uncertainty, however, the sight before him made his heart gleam with bloody admiration at the same time. The irony of a well-armed rat descending upon an unarmed Skink and losing decisively nonetheless, was just too good for him. He earnestly wanted himself to be sated in ratty blood with excited chirps and growls.

 

“What are you waiting for!? Kill it!”

 

The long green tipped sword trembled in Yolotli’s clawed grip. It would be the first time he would spill blood for what would seem years. A natural deed long overdue for a Skink of his nature, the many would say. Yet, for some reason unbeknownst to him, his claws couldn’t comply with the just calling of ratty blood to be spelt and splattered.

 

Yolotli could feel the warmth of the verminous warmblood beneath him – so alien – yet strangely relatable at the time. With the desperate breathing patterns of the rat, he felt something so much more than embarrassment and shame – a feeling that every mortal is enslaved by…

 

Suddenly, the rat’s elbow thrusted into Yolotli’s shoulder, instantly tipping him off of the rat’s back. Ripped asunder from the reptile-thingy’s claws, the rat instantly scurried off, breathing erratically and swashing its tail for survival.

 

Tenx angrily chased the rat, cursing Yolotli, but also himself for just standing there and not taking it upon himself in killing Yolotli’s kill. His rage couldn’t be dutifully sated, however, for the black cladded rat was incredibly fast, and didn’t take long for it to elude Tenx’s senses amongst a vast myriad of trees and flora that helped mask its escape.

 

The heart raced. The blood seethed. Words couldn’t come into fruition as Tenx marched back towards Yolotli with heavy steps and a firmer grip on his club. Suspicions abounded; questions sunk.

 

Yolotli looked into Tenx’s fierce eyes, and nervously arose from his fallen position – the green tipped sword still beside him on the dirt. With a pounding heart, he nervously smiled and instinctively looked down, for it would seem Tenx knew the obvious.

 

“…Sorry. I-I just couldn’t do it…”

 

Tenx still stared; fierce as ever.

 

“For it reminded me of the thousands of rats I spared…”

 

“So, it’s true…” Tenx uttered, his club trembling with rage, “You’re Xa’yaotl!”

 

Yolotli filched as Tenx angrily stuttered forward.

 

“You’ve made thousands of the vermin escape from the claws of Tehenhauin! You’ve betrayed everyone!”

 

“I-Indeed…” Yolotli glumly confirmed before placing a foot on the mysteriously green tipped sword and propelling it behind him on the dirt, far away. His mind caved in with pain; his heart wrought down heavily with guilt. It seemed his death wasn’t far away, and ironically enough, it would be his friend to deliver it to him. Never the more devastated, though, for the past year, he ran and hid away alike from his crime under a new name and meaning – a meaning so utterly deviated from his true purpose…

 

“Yes… I am Xa’yaotl, the most wanted Skink in Lustria!” Yolotli shouted, burgeoning on raining tears, “Go ahead and cement yourself a hero by killing me!”

 

“N-Never said I wanted to kill you…” Tenx’s club loosened itself from his claws. Yolotli was panting incessantly; his large golden eyes leaking tears. It clearly seemed the state of one expecting, detesting, but also accepting an inescapable death.

 

“Really? Because otherwise you’ll end up like me! Out casted and condemned to death…”

 

“No!” Tenx roared back, planting his club firmly into the soil, “I won’t do it, no matter what!”

 

Yolotli stopped his panting instantly. The tail stopped its violent swaying, and the tears started drying upon his scales. What he expected soon started becoming the most implausible.

 

“Never will – never even thought about it,” Tenx said before gently stepping forward, realizing what Yolotli was probably feeling, “Just wanted to know, however… why?”

 

“Tiredness.”

 

Tenx’s golden eyes quickly squinted; confused at the vague answer. Before he could add on or detest this in any way he could, Yolotli turned his snout away weakly and smirked.

 

“I’ll be blunt, Tenx. I’m tired… tired of war and the only two things that seem to come out of it: blood of the fallen and survival of those that still stand.”

 

“Is that so?” Tenx questioned whilst his claws scratched his crest. Xa’yaotl was a fierce, talented fighter and one of the many keen commanders brooded under the great Tehenhauin. With such experience and finesse for war, this tiredness seemed rather confusing for Tenx.

 

“Yeah… almost makes me wish I was spawned a Saurus. Killing and following orders would’ve been so much easier.”

 

“You are who you are, though – right? The Old Ones made who you are, and there’s nothing to change that.”

 

“That’s a sad truth then, for they made one hell of a traitor.”

 

The two Skinks intimately stared at each other as the silence besieged them. The lake’s surface watched with unwavering patience as if it was frozen solid – the trees all around them leered with their sprawling branches. One of them finally sighed, heavily.

 

“At the very least, you’re going spill the truth about me, right?” Yolotli questioned as his heart laboriously sucked up all of the pain it could from those words.

 

“I’m not going to do anything.”

 

“Te-”

 

“I only have two things on my mind, Yolotli,” Tenx’s eyes stared at the implanted club in front of them – their golden tint brimming resolutely, “Purging these rats from this place, and returning home; back across the vast sea.”

 

“I…” Yolotli uttered, losing his words in the abyss that was his bemused mind. Tenx’s seemingly forgiving attitude greatly confused him, and yet, affectionately encapsulated his heart at the same time.

 

“And I don’t like what you did long ago, nor do I hate it,” Tenx sternly admitted whilst resting a clawed hand upon his chest, “But I understand the reasoning behind your actions… at least a little.”

 

“Understand, huh?” Yolotli repeated that word to himself as it clanged on to him, making his tail accelerate into an intense sway, “You really shouldn’t…”

 

“But I will nonetheless!” Tenx shouted back before his face gleamed with a slight grin, warming up his scaled body.

 

The two Skinks stared at each other’s faces; one of uncertainty, and the other of acceptance. All around them, wavered the branches from above – empty of anything, save for the wind gusts that intertwined with them, occasionally.

 

“Huh… we should probably go back,” Tenx said, breaking the silence.

 

Yolotli slightly smirked before recalling exactly what he was thinking before Tenx showed up, “Yeah… lest we get accused of desertion.”

 

Both Tenx and Yolotli stared at each other for what would seem timeless hours, until one of them finally turned ‘round and started its trek back towards the encampment with heavy steps. The other Skink hefted its planted club and joined by its side.

 

All was silent, for there was nothing more to talk about. The wind gusts and their effect upon the wavering branches above, seemed to have drowned out any argument left for Yolotli’s past. All that seemed to be left, then, was the future – an uncertain and unpredictable one at that.

 

But there was something else.

 

Something calling in the deepest depths of Yololtli’s mind.

 

Something about blood, and it earnestly shuddered him to the core.

 

***

 

The cold, never ending darkness seemed to go on forever, or so Gingkin thought. He tried mentally putting together the pieces that were his fuzzy memories. One of them being at the mercy of a mysterious rat, another being pushed and pulled upon by its subordinates, and last of all, being brought to a large gathering of rats before everything succumbed into sudden darkness.

 

Gingkin honestly would’ve been fine if everything ended there, but instead, his arms were chained to the legs of a wooden table. As a result, he sat dormant inside of a fairly large tent with maps of all sizes and apparent purposes dotted all over, showing him that these were a war lord’s or leader’s quarters.

 

With a Heavy sigh, Gingkin flung his head up, closing the eyes so as to enter a deep trance and await his fate; whatever it was. As he did so, he heard something enter the tent with its faint footsteps – somewhat silently, but not enough for him to not notice it.

 

“Young Gingkin?”

 

Those soft, yet firmly spoken words sounded off in Gingkin’s ears, flickering his eyes in order to spot a rather tall rat cladded in dark – a lot alike himself, except with much more finesse.

 

“W-Who are you?”

 

“Sulkhatten…” It uttered smoothly, glaring at Gingkin, “Sulkhatten of the fifth Nightstalkers.”

 

Gingkin’s eyes widened. This was the rat he wanted to tell Sniplit and Conquil about all along, and if he wasn’t chained with death hanging in the air, he would’ve snickered at the irony.

 

“Sulkhatten, eh? I guess you would be happy to know Zhen’s very likely de-”

 

“Zhen’s head came clean off, I know,” Sulkhatten interrupted whilst glaring at Gingkin with renewed intensity, “My spies upon many other spies told me so long ago.”

 

“Ah…” Gingkin’s heart thundered, and it wasn’t Sulkhatten’s intensified glare alone that made him shudder.

 

“Zhen’s loss is unacceptable, but also a bearable one,” Sulkhatten calmly said whilst turning his furred head to a pile of maps with a smile appearing, “Also, you’re supposed to be dead, Gingkin. Logic would say so, but nonetheless, I’m happy you’ve defied death unlike the many others.”

 

“Y-You don’t want me dead?” Gingkin quickly questioned, leering at Sulkhatten with puzzled eyes.

 

“Of course not. I’ve caught wind of your past, and it whiffs of utility, efficiency, and violence… everything that I need.”

 

Those words echoed in Gingkin’s mind. He pondered on what Sulkhatten meant, and how in the world he caught wind of his past. It frustrated and confused him to the core so much, he begun baring his teeth and letting the blood flow wildly. However, not long did it take for him to vaguely recall something he inadvertently swore to protect… at least personally.

 

“As such, it would only be sensible for me to employ your abilities to the best affe-”

 

“Wait…” Gingkin quickly interrupted, bobbing his head erratically, “Conquil and Sniplit… where are they!?”

 

“The Runaway slave rats?” Sulkhatten smirked as he placed a claw on his black furred chin, “I’ve contemplated on killing them, but they’ll enjoy their company with the others on the frontline where they will die anyway.”

 

Gingkin grasped heavily, widening his eyes.

 

“I… I can’t allow that…”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Let me fight with them!” Gingkin shouted back, furiously testing his chains as he tried leaping forward.

 

“Why…” Sulkhatten muttered before stepping forward heavily towards Gingkin, “I selflessly give you the opportunity to become one of my spies, and you turn it down!?”

 

Gingkin openly glared back with not a word to say. His fur all around him prickled at the blood-curdling moment it found itself in.

 

“Fine,” Sulkhatten’s snout beamed with a sinister grin as he crossed his arms, “Your death wish has been granted… you’ll be assigned with the slave rats then.”

 

Gingkin and Sulkhatten stared at each other – One’s blood seething itself as if it was lava, and the other’s blood frozen solid as it said those powerful words with naught a drop of warm remorse.

 

Breaking Gingkin and Sulkhatten’s stares, two black cladded rats; cladded in a manner much similar to Gingkin, entered into the tent from behind Sulkhatten – their faces firmly attuned in seriousness, and strangely enough, one of them looked familiar.

 

Turning around, Sulkhatten noted the two new strangers and bent slightly before them in apparent glee.

 

“Erhiul. Polkul. What’s the news so far?”

 

One of the strange rats stepped forward, glancing at Gingkin for a second before realigning on Sulkhatten dutifully.

 

“Sulkhatten the strategizer – the reptile-things plan on marching back towards Zlatlan northwest at approximately 1900 hours,” The black cladded rat silently grasped before continuing on, “Additionally, one of my rats seemed to have taken out a high ranking reptile-thing, but sadly, it wasn’t successful in its escape – another one of my rats is missing as well.”

 

Surprised, Gingkin glared at the rat who just spit out all that information. Its voice was much more higher pitched than what could even be remotely considered normal… almost as if the rat in question was a breeder… no, but rather a _female_?

 

Sulkhatten clearly didn’t mind, or even care, for he regarded the rat with a minute’s full of contemplative silence, grasping underneath his snout with his claws before smiling, slightly.

 

“Solid news, Erhiul. It would be best if we isolate and destroy this pocket of resistance as soon as possible before they bolster Zlatlan’s defenses…”

 

The silence within the tent persisted as the two rats stood vigilant as ever before their master. Gingkin glanced at the contemplating Sulkhatten with slight admiration; even amongst his burning hatred, for the strategizer part within Sulkhatten’s title seemed partially true to its meaning…

 

“We’ll press the attack head-on from their south eastern flank – Erhiul, gather the rest of your rats and continue monitoring whatever move they make. Polkul, gather your rats and relay to the Seventh Nightstalkers my plan to march east and try to cut off the reptile-things’ north western approach towards Zlatlan – should they unlikely choose to retreat, but also to completely surround them.”

 

 

Erhiul and Polkul both nodded respectfully as they masterfully absorbed Sulkhatten’s orders into their stalwart minds. Gingkin, however, titled his head in a rather warm mixture of both bemusement and astonishment before Sulkhatten prepared for another barrage of orders.

 

“The Seventh Nightstalkers should easily achieve this – they’re roughly thirty-three miles north east of the reptile-things, and about double that North of us… we shall commence marching at 1700 hours, and the Seventh should commence theirs at 1800 hours.”

 

“With utmost efficiency,” The rats replied with straight snouts, turning their backs towards the exit with renewed tasks in mind.

 

“Oh, and Gingkin,” Sulkhatten turned to Gingkin, smirking slightly, “Excuse Polkul for his earlier show of force. What he did was… unwarranted to say the least.”

 

Gingkin curiously bent his head to feel a dried line of blood that stretched across the length of most of his neck. The chains that restrained him begun to shake wildly as his glare fixated on the rat he deemed familiar earlier.

 

“Polkul, eh!? Once these dammed chains are off, you’ll wish you silt my throat when you had the chance!”

 

Polkul gave his stare right back before silently reaching for what seemed to be a handle that protruded from his lower right side…

 

Erhiul, however, quickly extended her arm across Polkul’s chest to immediately stop whatever Polkul was thinking, and Sulkhatten rhythmically turned between the rats and Gingkin, contorting his snout that was brimming of slight glee, to a hint of disgust.

 

“I only expect the very best of all of you rats and nothing less… Dismissed.”

 

Nodding slightly, Erhiul and Polkul parted their respective ways, leaving Sulkhatten and a livid Gingkin behind – though partially sated with the departure of his would-be throat slitter.

 

“So-”

 

Sulkhatten suddenly strode towards Gingkin’s chains, unlocking them with a key before gesturing for Gingkin to leave as well without so much as saying a word.

 

Flustered, but with not much else to object, Gingkin did what he was insinuated, and walked – though with wobbling to occasionally disrupt, for he sat chained in seemingly hours that couldn’t be counted, yet bared heavily on his mind.

 

Before Gingkin could grace the outside’s winds, and at least tell the time by the sky’s tint, that same smooth voice pierced his ears, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“Actually, before you sod off and predictably die, let me ask you a question first.”

 

Gingkin turned around to an all familiar face that sternly stared back, vaguely showing off a masked smirk.

 

“Assassins and spies alike sport a 95% survivability rate – death is as strange to them as survival is towards slaves…”

 

“…So?”

 

“I’m rather curious about your affinity towards slave rats… what do they offer others do not?”

 

“I…” Gingkin tried muttering his usual rebuttals, but it was as if they solidified into something so much more than words, “I don’t know…”

 

“You don’t know, huh?” Sulkhatten chuckled, “A strange affinity, and if it hadn’t amused me, I would’ve forced you to become my pawn among many others… or have you killed.”

 

Gingkin’s tail accelerated in its frantic swaying, unsure of Sulkhatten’s intentions. A second later, however, Sulkhatten’s snout slightly opened yet again.

 

“That is all I needed to discuss. Dismissed.”

 

Gingkin heavily let out a masked sigh, briskly turning round’ before walking through the tent’s exit and tasting the fresh air as it surfed his fur comfortably. His eyes pained for a second under the new light’s seething wrath, but stopped when he noted the crimson red’s tint upon the sky, showing him there were still a few hours before the whole offensive will begin.

 

Everything seemed to not have changed at all – rats were still brandishing their swords – their black outlines contrasting against the various tents and trees. Gingkin settled out walking to the edge of the encampment, passing by the occasional pair of eyes whom stared from the discreet shadows.

 

As Gingkin reached the border that divided the encampment and the vast trees, he noted the blazing sun sinking beyond the horizon. For some reason, unknown to even himself, he couldn’t break off his stare of the burning beauty that beckoned his soul to question everything he has done so far, and the meaning behind it all.

 

Gingkin randomly turned his head to observe and study the scenery when he suddenly heard heavy panting jumbled amongst the rhythmic sound of fast running.

 

Turning around, Gingkin saw two very familiar slave rats uncontrollably shuddering with cracked short swords in hand.

 

“Conquil, Snip-”

 

“Gingkin! This-this is a major misunderstanding alright!”

 

“Wha-”

 

“We-we’re not soldier-fighters!” Sniplit cried, “Yet they still want us to fight-die as if they don’t care about our precious lives!”

 

Gingkin’s snout slightly wavered at this sudden outburst.

 

“Well of course you two are… the both of you were likely forced to take up arms and join Zhen.”

 

“Zhen!? Who the hell-hell is that!?”

 

“…You don’t remember?”

 

“We only remember awake-waking up in this god forsaken place, run-scurrying for our lives constantly…” Conquil grimly responded before his eyes started watering.

 

Gingkin contemplated on this, observing the rats whom were shuddering uncontrollably, now staring solemnly back. A word suddenly came to mind – a word that made the slaves’ strange behavior suddenly all the more understandable.

 

“Amnesia…”

 

“I don’t know!” Sniplit shouted, leaning towards Gingkin, “All I know is that they want to send-send us to our deaths by running into those blue-things, instead of run-scurrying away from them.”

 

“Scared?”

 

Both Sniplit and Conquil flinched at this response they hadn’t expected. Gingkin glared back with naught a discernible emotion apparent, and then smiled; slightly.

 

“Don’t be ashamed, for what you’re feeling is relateable… fear and terror are omnipresent emotions every mortal is enslaved by…”

 

Gingkin returned his stare towards the burning beauty that seemingly encapsulated his entire being as his tail slowly swayed side to side.

 

“All I can say is to stay alert, keep the blood freezing, and envy death… then maybe… just maybe…”

 

The slaves stared at Gingkin’s back with Conquil’s water fall of tears stopping suddenly, and Sniplit's claws pressed over his tingling heart.

 

“The both of you will survive.”


	11. The Darkening Numbness

Towering trees swayed ever so slightly amidst the wind’s chilling whirl. Their figures swaying against the expansive night skies above that hanged and loomed shadows indiscriminately across the jungle lands in total darkness. The rats of the fifth nightstalkers marched onward in secret on the reptile-things’ tails under this lonely cold darkness that oozed from everywhere the beady eyes could swerve to. Whether they were brave enough to admit it or not, tensions aroused in the rats’ souls.

 

Gingkin could feel this chilling breeze even amongst the warming pack of slaves. Indeed, he stood surrounded by an entire regiment of ratty slaves with Conquil and Sniplit standing firmly by either of his sides. Normally, a rat’s heart would race fiercely at the dreadful proposition of being positioned in the center where blades could prepare themselves treacherously from anywhere. Not so much for a rat that towers above its kin with a weapon handled by claws well taught in the practice of killing.

 

Conquil slowly panned his eyes front, center, and slightly behind. What he was experiencing strongly betrayed everything he believed up to this point. Rats, a lot alike he himself, carried themselves with improper steps and sagging backs. Stomachs churned on in the absence of food, and furs prickled under the chilling aura of the winds that seemingly didn’t care. An overwhelming shudder soon followed as the future obscured itself in the ominous veil of darkness all around.

 

Gingkin turned his head and noticed the incessant shuddering to his left with a gentle claw.

 

“Hey.”

 

Conquil apprehensively looked up to see Gingkin’s beady eyes unmoved by the wind’s chill.

 

“The reptile-things we’ll be fight-killing tonight are bigger and stronger than the ones you’ve ran from before.”

 

Conquil’s clawed grasp on his cracked short sword clenched harder as his eyes started widening.

 

“Didn’t mean that as a scare-scare,” Gingkin smoothly patted Conquil’s shoulder before continuing on. “But they have one immense disadvantage.”

 

Gingkin’s snout suddenly furrowed into a slight smile when he studied Conquil’s frail legs and arms moving in erratic, swift bouts.

 

“Speed and dexterity. While they are very strong fighters, their moves are sluggish and slow,” Gingkin calmly explained before cocking his head to the right, down towards Sniplit. “Focus on dodging their attacks, and they won’t hit-kill you.”

 

Sniplit and Conquil’s snouts slightly shook, but didn’t open completely. These calm, convincing words failed to enlighten their spirits that were shadowed by the fur-prickling darkness. Their minds frequently left themselves in a timeless ponder as to whether or not everything they’ve fought or rather ran for was a lie. So much so, that words were hard to find in amidst the daunting, enshrouding pain that blighted them.

 

One ratty snout slightly smirked in amidst the many others that were straightened.

 

“Every-everyone already knows this.”

 

Gingkin immediately turned to see who, amongst the sea of slave rats, said this. His eyes quickly settled on one that had deep red scars running across his torso as if the wind’s occasional howling condensed and sharpened itself into a hungry blade.

 

“What’s it to you?”

 

“I was a clan rat of Clan Pestilens.”

 

Gingkin’s snout shivered when a snicker almost escaped, “Ah. Clan Pestilens, the clan that lost decisively to the reptile-things of Lustria a year ago.”

 

“…And saved by them.”

 

The entire regiment gradually murmured in slight approval. Conquil and Sniplit, however, were lost completely when they processed those conflicting words, and Gingkin’s shivering snout stopped when his eyes glared intensely at this former clan rat, inquiring it to go on.

 

“Yes, I remember,” It said weakly before lifting its furred head up. “There were thousand-thousands of us surrounded in a pocket that stretch-stretched on for miles.”

 

The entire regiment regarded the scarred speaker with attentive eyes as a familiar tale seemed to have begun unfolding. A strange tale of doom, defeat, and… mercy.

 

“The humid-seething air hung heavily with doom and destruction, as the reptile-things’ armies begun closing in on us. Not everything was what it seemed, however. One or even more of the reptile-thing armies led-led themselves astray, leaving us a path through which to escape before that snake-snake god could devour us all. Almost every on-”

 

“HORSE skyte!” Gingkin barked with his sharp ratty fangs exposed wildly, and his tail thrashing erratically side to side.

 

Rats all around clenched their weapons harder when a fresh new breeze coursed throughout, tensing the many claws. It seemed clear to Gingkin this scarred rat wasn’t the only one that preached this nonsensical tale.

 

Pestilence’s usage of virulent poisons to infect spawning pools, the only known way the reptile-things procreate, was well known by now. Didn’t make much logical sense that these reptile-things of Lustria would spare the rats that attempted literal genocide against them, and that right there made the entire thing seem like a hoax or cover-up to mask their shame. It has often even been theorized that the reptile-things see Skaven such as Gingkin, as aberrations to their so-called Great Plan, and so, need to be exterminated.

 

An interesting tale, Gingkin thought nonetheless. The smartest among their lowly ranks would usually just mutter Lustria was a wasteland devoid of any warpstone for the reason of cutting their losses. Would save their necks from the doubtful sword that way.

 

In the enshrouding vacuum of silence that followed the group, a single curious claw hung itself in the air above.

 

“Erm… what is this Lustria?”

 

Rats all around leered with widened eyes and perked ears, dumbfounded at this question, while Gingkin’s glare shifted down to the right of him, clenching his teeth together intensely. Sniplit’s snout shivered into a nervous smile as the awkwardness seemingly enshrouded no one but himself.

 

Suddenly, a single chuckle sounded off as if it was an answer to Sniplit’s question. It soon grew into ferocious laughter as many others slightly smirked along. Relieved of the laughter shortly after, the scarred rat shot a glare, mockingly, upon Sniplit.

 

“Paradise.”

 

Sporadic giggles sprung up before more squeaking came from all over. Front, center, and behind. Gingkin’s ears twitched curiously with Sniplit following along as well. Conquil’s entire body suddenly began shuddering amidst all the squeaking, however.

 

“The sun-sun’s glare warms you up real good-good in Lustria unlike this cold-coldness!”

 

“Nice-nice tunnel sys-systems to cool down after an entire warm-warming day’s march!”

 

“Slither-slithering snakes to keep-keep you company when lone-lonely too!”

 

The scared rat’s snout arched into an impossible grin amidst the many giggling and squeaking.

 

“Last but not least-least, the reptile-things of Lustria. So-so grand-elegant in their arch-architecture as they are in their warm-warming hospitality.”

 

“…So why leave?” Sniplit questioned with a claw scratching.

 

“They kicked us out!”

 

Sniplit’s ears flinched from the roaring laughter that soon followed. He didn’t blame them. Gingkin let out a silent chuckle, noticing Sniplit’s flinching and blatant unamusement.

 

These jokes certainly offered an insight into the mental states of these rats that apparently hailed from Lustria. It even made Gingkin slightly wonder. Before he could explain and wash away Sniplit’s apparent bemusement, Conquil suddenly let out an out of place and unrecognizable laugh.

 

No, not quite, Gingkin immediately interjected, but rather a hiccup? He turned to see Conquil’s beady eyes glister with tears, and not long after, Conquil’s claws pressed upon his thumping chest.

 

“Why… why am I here?”

 

Gingkin’s fur prickled from the question’s chilly breeze. Rats all around were still having their fun, but this didn’t stop Conquil.

 

“Why? I don’t want-want this!” He roared with tears cascading down relentlessly. “I don’t want Skavenblight!”

 

The entire regiment suddenly hung itself with silence. All except for one rat that still shed its tears, and raised its head before the expansive night skies in the shape of a ponder.

 

“I want HOME! Yes-yes! Home’s sooth-relaxing familiarity! The only thing that is of my mind. But the world is too cruel.”

 

Conquil stopped himself before slamming his head into Gingkin’s dark, ebony cloak. He washed it anew with a rising tsunami of questions.

 

“WHY? Must-why the cruel so world!?” Conquil’s entire face shuddered incoherently whilst tears drenched fur and cloak. “I’m only world; a rat slave; weakling braced against the stro-strong winds that gives no damn!” He stopped and looked up with tears still cascading down. “Like a lonely leaf drift-fluttering down only to be crushed, decomposed, and uncared for!”

 

Why...

 

Gingkin’s eyes widened, his heart pounding incessantly. Sniplit shuddered with leaking tears, for it would seem his only friend broke under the withering pressure. Skavenblight truly was the only reason they've ran and endured for so much with no end in sight. For Conquil to say all of this...

 

Blades all around prepared themselves. Even in a slave rat regiment, weakness is looked down upon and exploited. Rats found such an example before them to satisfy their inner-cravings.

 

Before they could do so, however, something happened. Something so illogical, it dulled ratty sense and blade alike. The tall, so-called murderous rat slung an arm around the crying one, bringing it closer into its cloak. Its snout uttered once amidst the leering silence.

 

“I’m scared just like you, and yes, I yearn and roar for home’s familiarity.”

 

Despite it being nonsensical for a rat assassin-thing to be embedded with them, they couldn’t help but relate with it. The darkening numbness, eating away at their souls and sanity, yet enlightening a narrowly jagged path through it all.


	12. Cold-Blooded Condemnation

Drills… drills were a fascinating event in Tenx’s past life in Hexoatl. He remembered them as a rare occurrence in which worker caste Skinks trained diligently on maneuvers and tactics vital for a lizard’s survival in war. Now, it seemed that practice had permeated throughout his day, carrying out each and every exhausting mock order after another until either the sun dropped, or his body did so first.  
  
  
Tenx beforehand assumed they would rest after all of it. Then the order came to march back towards Zlatlan at nightfall’s start. The cold’s biting grasp upon his scales didn’t help the strain that burned from within either.   
  
  
At least, Tenx mused, Yolotli was assigned a position next to him of the fifth and last rank of the marching Skink cohort. Unlike himself, Yolotli never seemed to mind the strenuous drilling that exhausted all the rest of the Skinks. Not surprising when he considered Yolotli’s real, true past. A past drenched by the thousands of rats’ blood, now etched in the present’s unanimous condemnation.  
  
  
Tenx’s elders had always teached him of the past’s importance; how it gives all children of the Old Ones like he, purpose and conviction. It’s this alone, the many say, that lends  _everyone_  the gods’ strength to make their stand and fight. Even when the future itself may seem like a frigid whirlwind of doom that envelops.   
  
  
But what’s a lizard when this  _very_  past withers from deep within? What makes a warrior then? Such questions hammered themselves into Tenx’s mind when he glanced at Yolotli.  
  
  
A chilly breeze surfed over the cohort’s scales; their long, slender tails swerving almost perfectly with each other. The innards from most were tensed and constrained, all while braving what seemed to be the Southland’s coldest of nights. A certain tiredness hung over the cohort in stark contrast to the winds that howled amongst branches above. They were rather unsure when battle will come again. Few were even convinced the vile rat abominations were done for. The battles fought before, taken as sound evidence.  
  
  
Guttural clicks and chirps soon uttered themselves faintly. They came from near Tenx’s own rank.  
  
  
“Cold… the coldness is gnawing on my scales!”  
  
  
“Gnaw?”  
  
  
“Whatever. All of us seem to be tired.”  
  
  
“Not the Sauri. Or Kha’kor.”  
  
  
“Never tiring; always sharpened like their spears and clubs,” The Skink remarked with a sorrowful smirk. “Reminds me of that Skin-”  
  
  
The Skink’s utterance stopped when a set of claws gently settled upon its scaly shoulder. They belonged to Nkachi, Tenx quickly noted, as he recalled his easing of the pain that so fiercely blew forth from Nkachi’s troubled past.  
  
  
“Xa’yaotl was a  _warrior_  long spawned before you two.”  
  
  
Flustered, the two Skink warriors’ eyes blinked before turning towards the new speaker. One of them spoke up, “You fought under him, no?”  
  
  
“Yes,” Nkachi sharply replied. “Barring stratagems, his technique with various assortments of spears and other weaponry cleansed those filthy rats by the hundreds alone. He was a hero - a prodigy delivered onto us by the Old Ones themselves - so what everyone strongly believed back then.”  
  
  
Yolotli’s snout suddenly let out a faint shriek at those words. No one seemed to have noticed, miraculously, as he quickly corrected his composure. Shortly after, a small collection of bushes rustled violently as if shuddering from the cold on their own accord. He sensed something - whatever it was - watching or prevailing over him. His innards trembled with each passing breeze.  
  
  
“That’s why… that’s why even after all this time, that  ** _dastardly,_** treacherous betrayal still clings on as if it only happened a few days ago.”  
  
  
“But weren’t you  _even_  trained by him too?” The other Skink questioned whilst hisses made themselves heard all around.  
  
  
“That doesn’t matter!” Nkachi raised his voice. “My point still stands: hundreds of us - no - thousands of us offered our lives for a sliver of vengeance and closure! We spilt our blood with our heads held high only to find our corpses lying face down...”  
  
  
Skinks all around gasped and chirped, invigorated by the common reason every lizard fights for. Tenx’s crest, however, shook side to side. He was rather surprised someone as laid back as Nkachi actually fought. Tenx himself spawned mere weeks too late to fight in the war that shed the blood of nameless millions and forever ravaged his homeland. It quickly occurred to him why Nkachi was so eager in forgetting his past.  
  
  
Nkachi’s snout stretched once more, and so did Yolotli’s trembling innards as well.  
  
  
“I still remember when he deserted and left his lieutenants and the rest of us in hot air. He discarded his ceremonial feathers and garments, throwing away his identity. When all of us slaughter these rats and return to Lustria, and if he’s still alive hiding somewhere, I’ll find and  ** _gut_**  his intestines out into a fine line! What do y’all say!?”  
  
  
Skinks all around cheered, hissed and chirped excitedly. The tiredness that hung over them like dark, ominous clouds lifted away as the lizards’ renewed zeal for battle hovered in its place. It would seem to an outsider Saurus that  _all_  of them were prepared for whatever may confront them, though the likelihood for this  _confrontation_  dimmed in their minds with each marching step into the darkness.  
  
  
Yolotli’s body bended slightly down, clenching his gut with claws whilst shuddering incessantly. He became nauseous in clear disgust… at himself. His stomach rumbled amidst the incoherent cheering as that name - Nkachi - continuously rebounded off the walls of his own mind. Soon enough, vivid memories trickled in; memories he would rather wash away, now rooted in deep. Many years ago, he recalled Nkachi amongst the other no-name masses whom lost their temple-cities and brethren to the ratty plagues, begging to join Tehenhauin’s vengeful host.  
  
  
Shuddering soon crept upon Yolotli’s snout when his crested head shot up towards the expansive night skies. He begged to ponder whether he should unveil his façade, and truly show them who he really was - the source of all their pain - wounds left open to the tests of time. Would they kill him on the spot? Would they even believe him? Never in his countless years of slaughter, fighting, and marching has he ever felt so condemned, so cold.  
  
  
Yolotli closed his eyes and deeply inhaled. His trembling snout finally decided. Should his head be finely hacked off on the spot, so be it.  
  
  
When Yolotli’s snout tried preparing and stretching itself, something abruptly rocked his shoulder. He turned with his heart fiercely throbbing to see Tenx much to his surprise.  
  
  
“Don’t. You still have so much to live for.”  
  
  
“…How cliché!”  
  
  
“Doesn’t change the fact you want to die so meaninglessly.”  
  
  
“Meaninglessly!? I’ve fought and slaughtered in a life admired even by the Slann, now widely condemned by the lowliest of skinks - some of which I taught and fought with. The many say that I need to  ** _die_**  for what I’ve done. May the Old Ones have final judgement on my soul!”  
  
  
“I never even admired you nor condemned you. Only understood. Remember?”  
  
  
“Unde-” Yolotli stopped himself when he tried uttering that. Indeed, he used to be widely admired and adored, but never this  _understood_. Such a word brought with it strange connotations and meanings. He had always been seen as an invincible, godly figure sent forth by the Old Ones themselves. May the truth be told and etched on golden plaques then. Warriors blessed by their own strength and zeal only find themselves weakened deep within.  
  
  
“Fine. You have a point there.”  
  
  
Tenx’s snout brimmed widely to the point even Yolotli slightly flinched uncomfortably. It almost seemed he was about to hug him. Though such a bizarre thing didn’t seem so bad now due to the incessant coldness.  
  
  
As the Skinks all around cheered, hissed, chatted their excitement, a sonorous horn bloomed throughout the air, startling many of them. What startled them the most, however, was its meaning: ‘Prepare for Battle.’

 

Muscles tensed; hearts raced.

  
  
The many of them fixed their shields and prepared their clubs when this time, the horn - presumably from Kha’kor - ordered them to retreat from their forward, vanguard deployed position into another one behind the sauri lines that started to face towards their western flank.  
  
  
When all was finished, the cohort of Skinks saw it from afar, slightly above the Sauri heads and amongst the many trees. Rats with armor and hungry blades were approaching them all quickly in their jittery manner.  
  
  
“Heh. Looks like blood will be spilt for fun again,” Tenx miserably remarked.  
  
  
Yolotli’s eyes squinted fiercely. Though they all seemed like easy game, something felt awfully off.  
  
  
“Don’t make me save you, Tenx.”  
  
  
Tenx turned towards Yolotli with his head slightly tilted, questioning this. That utterance echoed in his mind as if he heard it before. He then affixed his eyes onto the armored rats whom were quickly charging at them with prepared, sharpened blades...


End file.
